


Feedback Loop

by GibbousLunation



Series: Quirks (Are)n't Everything [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Quirks (My Hero Academia), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Career Ending Injuries, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Physical Abuse, Slow Build, Superpowers, Villains, kamoshida is a terrible person, ryuji is a bisexual mess, ryuji is also just a mess in general but hes trying his best, ryuji whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-03-22 15:51:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 72,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13767417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GibbousLunation/pseuds/GibbousLunation
Summary: Ryuji had, for the longest time, understood four key things.One: in life, quirks were everything.Two: people heard what they wanted to hear. Believed what they wanted to believe.They heard the name Sakamoto, and before Ryuji had so much as raised a hand to wave they expected a fist.Three: his mother had always said, with her soft smile and her soft hands carding through his hair, that there were still good things. There’s always something good, Ryuji, you just have to find it.The fourth thing came later. It was okay, then, for a while, that people heard his name and filled in the blanks. It was okay that they whispered and ran away at recess. It was okay that he wasn’t born to be a hero the way his dad was.Ryuji would much rather be born to help.(A BNHA fusion you don't need to know anything about BNHA to understand)





	1. A Time and a (Pace)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, so I started writing this monster of a fic back in... June? July? Anyways its 175 pages on word and eating up my hard drive but I finally finished a rough draft so I figured it's time to start posting. This is sort of a strange idea that my friend Raf inspired (which, big shout out to him for being such a great pal and reading this chapter over for me), it was meant to be a short one shot about a Retired Hero version of Ryuji trying to help future kids get through U.A. while falling in love with the teacher across the hall- maybe I'll actually write that after, instead of yanno, this giant thing. 
> 
> Just to give you a brief sort of run down, this fic takes place in the BNHA universe but without any of the BNHA characters, so, you really don't have to know anything about my hero academia to read this! I just really wanted to write a sort of different take on how Ryuji's story could have gone, and it warped into it's own AU entirely. I'm honestly not sure if anyone is going to get as much of a kick out of this as I did while writing it, but that's part of the joy and mystery of writing I guess! I'm not sure how long this is going to end up being but if it beats my current record of 14 chapters I'll buy myself a whole entire cake.

Ryuji knew he wasn’t the smartest kid, never had been. He knew how people saw him though, what thoughts splashed across their minds in bold neon colours like paintings on display. His mom said it was a gift, that he was empathetic. To a seven year old with a solid C minus average and a chip on his shoulder in the shape of his old man’s hands, it was hard to hear anything beyond ‘pathetic’.

 

Ryuji was a simple kind of guy. He didn’t see the world in rose golds or metaphors; he was good at reacting, at running and digging deep to fight to be faster. To him, running wasn’t some transformation, some complex flowery image of mountains and sunlight. It just, was. He was good at it, so he ran. Simple.

 

Some people also described Ryuji as ‘gifted’, said he had ‘potential’. The same people who tutted at him and wagged their fingers when he didn’t follow some imaginary rule book everyone else apparently had memorized and expected him to play the part in. Other people said he had authority issues, that he was a delinquent. Some people thought it in bold broad letters, packed away tightly behind their thin lipped smiles, and pretended to forget what his quirk was anyways. Maybe they figured he was too dumb to put it together, that he could see the picture but not get the context. He didn’t have to get underlying symbolisms or know what the silences between words meant to understand, though. Ryuji learned at a young age that most adults didn’t know very much at all.

 

So what if Ryuji didn’t know how to divide the long way, if he didn’t understand words like ‘economy’ or ‘detention’ or ‘keeping your mouth shut and using your inside voice’. None of that mattered in the real ways.

 

Ryuji had, for the longest time, understood four key things, and needed nothing else.

 

One:

 

In life, quirks were everything.

 

Powerful quirks shot people from humble beginnings into the limelight, gave them money and fame and all the things in between. People with awesome quirks became awesome, people born with might became the mighty.

And everyone else got stepped on underneath.

 

His dad had been born with an incredible skill;  _ enhancement _ , they’d said,  _ born to be a hero _ .  _ With his ability to focus his strength into his fists, he could break through steel doors! _ And lamps, and walls, and hearts, and everything good and fragile in between. Whatever.

 

His dad had been powerful, sure. He’d also been an asshole, and a drinker, and he’d left bruises like purple scars everywhere he touched. Ryuji hated him, and eventually so did everyone else.

 

The day his dad debuted to the world as a villain had been shocking, supposedly. To the media and the papers he’d been an ‘upstanding citizen’, born to be a hero, they’d said, with a shrug and a sort of half pout as if to say ‘no one could have predicted this’; like their shock was worth noting. As if it changed anything when his dad had ended up on TV laughing like he was orchestrating a choir as he destroyed half of downtown. As if ‘oopsie’ meant anything to a small boy with a rainbow of band aids and broken bones an enough memories stacked up in messy piles to spell out a frustrated ‘I told you so’.

 

Two:

 

People heard what they wanted to hear. Believed what they wanted to believe.

 

They heard the name Sakamoto, and before Ryuji had so much as raised a hand to wave they expected a fist.

 

Three:

 

His mother had always said, with her soft smile and her soft hands carding through his hair, that there were still good things. There’s always something good, Ryuji, you just have to find it.

His mom was the good thing, he’d thought, holding her as tightly as his pudgy arms would let. And the dogs at the dog park that wagged their tails at him, and the lady down the street who gave him ice cream on his way home from school, and his favorite dinosaur collection. It was a long list that he added to every day, but his mom was the best good thing.

 

He didn’t know why he felt everything so much, the first time a puppy wagged his tail at him he burst into tears. Ryuji was a weird kid, probably. His heart was always so full, love like a bucket overflowing in his chest, and anger like thunder as shadowed as the night itself. His mom had called it a ‘touch’; a cute way of saying ‘your quirk is really lame, actually, good luck kiddo.’ He got his mother’s quirk mixed in with his father’s, a little bit of good with a whole lot of worry.

 

His mother was an empath, a very focused kind that had initially set her on a very prestigious path, one where she’d met Ryuji’s father. Not born to be a hero, but born to help people, born to heal. She was soft and friendly and warm and Ryuji loved her very, very much, even when she was angry or sad and everything around them felt muddled and grey. She called Ryuji her personal sunshine, back when he was little. Said he projected happiness no matter how gloomy the day got. Somewhere along the line he’d lost that particular talent.

 

The fourth thing Ryuji learned came with bruised knuckles, a park on a sunny afternoon, and the first time he’d ever heard the word ‘quirkless’.

 

He didn’t remember much about the details, only that there’d been a boy with glasses too big for his face, only that a kid had laughed when he’d kicked him, only that his fist was driving into the same toothy grin before he’d thought to move. 

Ryuji remembered the principal visit, then the counsellors office after. He remembered kind brown eyes and the way for a split second, someone had believed he could be more than his past.

 

“You’re a brave boy, Ryuji. Not just anyone would stand up to a bully, you know.” Ryuji thought that was sad, really. It was pretty easy to be brave when you knew everyone was afraid of you, even if Ryuji was more afraid of them. Maybe the lady hadn’t heard who he was the way everyone else had.

 

“I think you have a bright future ahead of you,” She smiled. “Courage like that? I daresay you have the makings of a brilliant hero.”

 

Ryuji felt like crying, he remembered, or yelling. “It’s not nice to lie,” he’d said. His mom had taught him that. Only villains lie.

 

“Why would I be lying, dear?” Ryuji remembered the particular way she’d tilted her head, the way her light hair shifted and her brows drew up all tight and sad. Ryuji hadn’t known what to say, his eight year old brain struggling to package up all of the words he’d heard, all of the glances and whispers teachers thought he couldn’t hear. He couldn’t explain to himself the way he just knew that a path had already been set out for him. The sun rose high in the sky and Ryuji could never be a hero. 1 plus 1 equals two, easy stuff, even for a dummy like him.  _ Duh. _

 

“You know,” the counsellor said again after a moment, shifting closer in her seat, shoulders loose and friendly. “Quirks can vary so much; some people have shields, some have amazing strength. I knew a lady once who could change her hair colour when she was excited.” She smiled at him. “I guess it’s like how some people are really smart at math, and some people are really good at talking to big audiences. You know what I think you’re really good at?” 

Ryuji couldn’t remember how he’d felt in that exact moment, only that he’d known then to hold her words tightly against his heart. “What?”

 

“I think you have an amazing heart, you know when people need help and you’re not afraid to help them.”

 

“That’s not a talent.” He’d frowned.

 

“Mm, maybe not in the usual way. But it’s just like being a really good listener, or a fast runner, right? If you use those in the right way, you can do amazing things. I think,” she paused, leaning back a little in her chair. “I think you should try to help as many people as you can, I think that would be a wonderful talent to have.”

 

Ryuji learned that day that a hero was just a word, that it wasn’t like ‘teacher’ or ‘doctor’ or ‘dad’, it wasn’t something people gave you the way Ryuji had thought. For a long time, when Ryuji thought of heroes he thought of a lady with kind eyes in a leather chair.

 

It was okay, then, for a while, that people heard his name and filled in the blanks. It was okay that they whispered and ran away at recess. It was okay that he wasn’t born to be a hero the way his dad was.

Ryuji would much rather be born to help.

 

His mother had said wanting to help was its own kind of heroics; she’d had a bruise like a handprint splashed across her cheek but she’d held him with a smile so wide it burned when he’d told her that he wanted to be her hero one day.

  
  
  


 

Maybe Ryuji was too dumb to figure out the nuances, maybe he thought of things as far too ‘right’ vs. ‘wrong’. Maybe he couldn’t understand how to separate actions into thoughts and consequences, and he reacted too much on emotions and instinct alone, but he was stubborn and determined, and he worked hard for what he wanted.

 

He ran every day to school, he watched every video, he stared with wide eyes every time a hero talked to his school or fought nearby. Ryuji would be that one day, he’d decided, and that was all there was to it.

 

The last day of junior high he handed in his papers, all shark grinned and unbreakable, U.A. proudly written by the number one choice. He left every other box blank.

 

He’d gotten into the try outs by an almost too small margin, but his mom and him had celebrated like he’d won the lottery.

 

The U.A. itself was intimidating, all full of nervous newbies and looming walls and far too many staring eyes. Nobody knew who he was, though. For once. Nobody in the sea of prospective heroes had so much as turned towards him with nervous eyes. Ryuji felt their nervous tension like wires under his skin, he’d been afraid at first too, but something in the way kids brushed shoulders uncaringly and didn’t flinch away from him made him braver. He fought it down and swallowed hard and everything else he could to build himself up big enough that no one would believe fear sat anywhere close to his heart.

 

The try out itself was different than he’d been expecting. Robots with painted numbers stomping down long stretches of nothing. Destroying things was easy, but it wasn’t what he wanted. It stung somewhere in his chest every time he kicked or smashed or broke things, too many echoes of broken walls and door hinges, too many similarities. The sound of metal crunching under his legs as electric shockwaves rippled outwards was difficult enough to think beyond.

 

His focus was shot two minutes in when a nearby boy had frozen up, his fear ice picking directly against Ryuji’s chest. Ryuji had instinctively dived in. Some other hero had misfired, some kind of projectile quirk aimed too close to another student, too fast for him to dodge.

 

Ryuji remembered running forwards, as natural as it had ever been, and seeing the fear bright eyes of a small boy with shaggy black hair and far too many scrapes, turn abruptly into surprise. He didn’t remember hitting the ground.

 

For a moment, launching himself forwards with arms outstretched, he’d felt like he was flying.

  
  
  
  
  


 

Ryuji woke up later in the medical wing, with a nurse frowning at him for his recklessness and lecturing him half to unconsciousness again. He appreciated the concern, to some extent, and felt her exasperation like a bad fizzy drink under his tongue, but he didn’t care. The boy was okay, they’d said. He even burst into the room later all bows and embarrassment until Ryuji had laughed and called him a dumbass and made him swear not to mention it.

 

Something between pride and hope kept his injuries from mattering to him, the scars that would no doubt criss cross his back were a mark of accomplishment.

 

Ryuji and his mother had sat hunched close together later that week with an envelope clutched nervously between them, his mother talking in soft tones about how ‘whatever happened, he’d still be her hero.’ Cheesy as hell, but his eyes still misted over though as a wobbly smile broke through his nerves. 

 

She’d cried when Ryuji showed her the bright red Accepted stamped across the bottom of his letter, Ryuji cried after when he watched the short video clip that came with it.

 

“Your performance was mediocre at best,” it had started, a grumpy looking man with a beard and droopy eyes and a pink shirt explained. Ryuji felt his gut squeeze with the criticism. “Your quirk is clearly undeveloped, so there will need to be more training. No slacking off permitted, in this life you only have yourself to blame for your inadequacy. But,” the man rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “a true hero isn’t measured by pure skill alone. It doesn’t matter how tough you are, or how flashy your moves are if you can’t apply them to where it really counts. You, Sakamoto, are reckless and took no account for your own well being. You had no regard for the consequences of your actions and acted impulsively. You saved a classmate and put yourself in danger, like an idiot. And yet, also. Like a true hero.”

 

“Ryuji Sakamoto, welcome to the U.A.”

  
  
  
  
  


 

Ryuji had started classes with wide eyed wonderment, thinking, on a loop like a mantra that these people would show him what heroes were supposed to be. That he’d finally be able to help, that maybe now, when people heard the name Sakamoto they’d smile. He’d hoped, for a wild moment, that they'd replace the purple crescent moons in his dreams with twinkling starlight in his thoughts.

  
  


Their instructional videos were bright, hopeful. Full of over the top positivity and lots of big name heroes giving their seal of approval. The classes were tough and demanding, pushing the limits of everything he’d known. He’d loved everything about it.

 

“Your quirk relies on focus,” a teacher sighed, her yellow sweater glaring at him like it could physically disapprove of him in the sunlight. “You can’t channel the strength you need into your legs if you can’t stay focused. Your strength and speed is admirable, though. Keep working.”

 

“Impressive quirk,” the pink shirted man from his acceptance video said. “Not going to make much of a hero if you keep charging in like a dumbass, though. Think before you move, Sakamoto.”

 

Ryuji listened attentively in class, as best as he could with his own excitement twisting between the thrumming energy of his classmates. He pushed himself to his limits in training, signed up for after class workouts to push even harder.

 

“When do we get to help people?” He asked his homeroom teacher, a few months in. They’d been talking about finding their weaknesses, about strategies, about sidekicks and costumes and thinking outside of the box. Ryuji was practically vibrating with the information, but he’d always been terrible at book smarts. 

 

Being a hero was all about taking action, and he’d seen the news reports every morning. People needed help now and every day, they needed heroes.

 

“Help people? Hah,” his teacher smirked down at him, his dark curly hair casting strange shadows against his tired eyes; Ryuji took an instinctive step back and then frowned in confusion at himself. “Helping people’s only for the real heroes, Sakamoto.”

  
  


Ryuji forgot, for a moment, between his enthusiasm and his studies, that Sakamoto was a name that cast a long shadow. The divot between his homeroom teacher’s brow was ominous, the sudden anger Ryuji felt in waves from the man, sharpened with the downward twitch of his lips, locked tight around Ryuji’s feet.

 

Sakamoto was a wrecking ball.

  
  
  
  
  


 

He stumbled once, in practice. It felt like the world was waiting for him to fall, for a moment, like they were watching and holding their breath.

 

He didn’t fall.

 

They worked in groups, sometimes, for drills and practice exercises. He was paired up with their newly elected class president for a challenge meant to give them all a taste of each other’s abilities. Makoto had gotten into the U.A. on recommendations, he’d felt the twang of jealousy of several classmates when it was announced he’d be working with her.

 

Their mission was to capture the flag from another pair of students; Makoto was good at planning, Ryuji was good at offense, he’d walked into the building with nearly unflinching confidence.

 

Winning had been as easy as Makoto had predicted too. Ryuji was good at firing people up, after all. He used strong emotions as fuel, so it came down to a matter of finding the right buttons to press to rattle his opponents enough to chase him, then simply turn around and unleash it all back.

 

“Man, it must really suck to be beaten by a dumbass like me, huh?” He laughed, the boy on the other team was panting, anger outlining his every move in broad neon lights. Makoto was probably close to stealing their flag already, Ryuji just had to keep their main brute strength angry and focused only on him while she took out the weaker boy guarding their target. 

Ryuji expected frustration and anger, and it was there in part. He channeled it greedily into the electric current building in his feet. There was something else mixed in, though. Something that moved sluggishly and made his strength falter for half a second.

 

The other boy growled, fists clenching at his sides as his goopy form changed shape and size. “Should have expected tricks and bullshit from you,” he spat.

 

“What?” That was… different.

 

The boy took a menacing step forwards, Ryuji refocused himself and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. He’d seen the guy move when he attacked, he was pretty fast and all at once.

 

“Did you think none of us would remember?” There was something in the air, an emotion he couldn’t place, sweat broke out against Ryuji’s neck, his hackles rose. He didn’t have to knock the boy out or anything, he realized. Makoto was probably there already, he’d distracted long enough.

 

“Sakamoto,” the boy glared. “I know who you are.”

 

The boy surged forwards, slime and gooey limbs blasting his direction like a cascading waterfall. He was faster than Ryuji remembered, maybe faster than he’d ever shown the class.

 

But Ryuji was faster.

  
  
  


 

 

They won, as easily as Makoto expected, as easily as everyone in their class expected, but there were no hi-fives or cheers afterwards. No congratulations from any of the teachers. Only wide eyed stares as every angle of the hallway played in loops on giant screens where everyone awaited them. Ryuji’s body a lit like a bolt of lightning, pure uncontrollable anger. ‘Sakamoto, I know who you are.’

 

Ryuji was stopped by a girl with large pigtails after class a few weeks later. He blinked, not expecting to find Ann, an old middle school friend, who seemed not quite displeased, but something bordering on disappointment. Something burnt out and ashy in his throat. 

 

“That was some show you put on,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

 

He crossed his arms, feeling the stiff electric tension of the room like an elastic band around his lungs. “You saw the video.” It wasn’t a question, nearly everyone in the school had. Ryuji blowing up in a practice exercise, his last name burnt into every glance his direction. 

 

She mirrored him, crossing her arms and leaning her weight on one hip. “Thought you wanted to be a hero, Sakamoto. Or did you change your mind?”

 

He remembered seeing her across the playground years ago, her quirk manifesting early on. A manipulation quirk, he remembered hearing. Ann wasn’t on the hero track immediately, not like some of his other classmates, she’d been set on the support track early on. Something about her quirk bringing out the ‘true heart’ in other people, about intentions coming to light. A lot of vague terminology and shifting glances. All Ryuji could tell was that people shied away from her, said things behind her back, smiled tightly and nervously when she caught their eye.

 

She always wore gloves, long elbow length gloves tucked underneath her shirt sleeves, and leggings under her uniform skirt.

 

_ “She’ll be an R rated hero, for sure,” _ he’d heard some teachers whisper, the words meant nothing to him but he’d seen the way Ann’s eyebrows furrowed and decided he didn’t care for anything anyone said about her. People’s assumptions stuck like tar to the bright optimism she carried. Because she was pretty, because she was different.

 

Ryuji understood how expectations sunk claws into the vulnerable parts of your heart and never quite let go.

 

They’d been friends, once. All chubby, sticky fingers and Ryuji pushing a juice box across an off white table. All hopeful half smiles and side glances.  _ “I think your hair's nice,” _ he’d said. Or something like that. She’d stared at him, something in her blue eyes seemed oddly fragile, like she was waiting.

 

_ “I don’t like orange juice,”  _ she’d whispered, carefully twining her fingers together in her lap.  _ “Okay! Tomorrow let’s have apple juice.”  _ He grinned back at her confused expression until she nodded, a tiny awkward smile on her lips.

She seemed surprised to see him the next day, which made no sense to Ryuji. A promise was a promise.

 

_ “I brought two apple juices!”  _ He announced happily,  _ “That way we can both have one!” _

 

She’d looked at him strangely, but quietly accepted his gift with a bob of her head.

 

Ryuji told his mom he really liked apple juice, not the fizzy drinks, and packed two every day. Ann never had packed lunches, or any juice boxes. Just bills and change and scrawled hearts on post-its. Ryuji didn’t mind sharing. 

_ “Why aren’t you avoiding me?” _ Ann asked once, her bottom lip jutting outwards and a blush high on her cheeks when Ryuji handed her his usual gift. Ryuji cocked his head to the side.

 

_ “You don’t avoid  _ me, _ ” _ he said back, it seemed simple enough, but Ann’s shock was jarring in the coziness of their classroom.  _ “Do you not wanna hang out with me?” _ He asked. It wouldn’t be the first time, or the last. 

 

Ann frowned,  _ “no, it’s okay,” _ she said after a moment.  _ “You’re nice.” _

  
  


She slumped back into her chair, a warm relief cresting against her gloved hands that made Ryuji smile.  _ “You’re nice, too.” _

 

They didn’t hang out after the bell rang, but between the bent doorframes and hiding spaces, there wasn’t room for anyone outside of whispered giggles beside the coat racks anyways. After a while, Ryuji convinced his mom to pack two lunches, just in case someone was hungry at school. His mother ruffled his hair fondly and asked him if his new friend would like fruit gummies too.

 

Sometimes Ann’s bright eyes would catch the purples and blues splashed against his arms. Sometimes Ryuji would catch scrawled words like ‘month’ and ‘sorry’ on her lunch notes. Ryuji saved his allowance and bought nice pastries to share before class. Ann lent him money on school trips, remembered his birthday, asked after his mother.

 

They’d been friends, once.

 

“Ann, come on,” he started, stopped when her flat stare didn’t budge. Ryuji bit his lip, letting some of the tension fall from his stance as he did, gaze tracking to the linoleum floor, to sticky fingers and apple juice. “I’m tryin’ okay? It’s just… it’s-” he hesitated, glancing up to catch the way Ann’s eyes widened at his softer tone, like she’d expected only hard edges. Like she’d only pieced together who Ryuji was during those years they lost contact, like Sakamoto was just a name to her. Like they’d never shared anything more than a few packed lunches and whispers years ago. He frowned, straightening up.

 

He’d thought, maybe for a moment that her blue eyes had sparkled with recognition, looking at Ryuji. That she’d see beyond the words that bit and dug and threw salt into too new wounds. He’d thought maybe Ann, the girl everyone looked at and assumed they had all figured out, would understand.

 

“It doesn’t matter. Forget it. I’m going to be a hero, alright? I’ll prove it.”

 

She didn’t have to understand, Ryuji didn’t need friends anyways. 

  
  
  
  


 

The school festival approached with a buzz of nervous energy. Everyone saw it as their golden opportunity; their chance to make it to the big times, to get the recognition as the hero they knew they were always meant to be. Ryuji carefully circled the date in red and crossed off the days in blues.

 

Maybe if Ryuji won, things would be different. Maybe if he won, he’d find a hero to take him under their wing and help him control his destructive side. Maybe he’d get paid really well and his mom could finally move out of their broken cracked house and live somewhere nicer. Somewhere with new memories, where they never ran out of food or warmth or working air conditioning or money for rent. Somewhere his mom could finally scrub away those dark lines and tired frowns like they were nothing but stains on a tile floor.

 

He worked the courage up after weeks of worrying, and asked Ann if she would help him work on controlling his quirk. She’d looked so annoyed for a moment he was sure she’d just turn around and forget him entirely. Which would have been fine, really. He wasn’t looking for after school hang outs, something more like coworkers, a little less like teammates. 

 

“Shiho’s better at that than I am,” she said with a frown. “Tuesday, after school. I’m assuming you have a place?”

 

Ryuji’s grin caught him off guard, “Uh, yeah! Y-yeah, the rooftop, I’ll get us in, not a problem!”

 

She sighed. “Fine, we’ll be there.”

 

“For real? Than-”

 

She held a finger up, cutting him off abruptly. “Don’t thank me, I’m not going to let you win the festival or anything.” He caught the undercurrent of soft grudging forgiveness, a side hug after years of silence. Something that seemed almost guilty. Maybe something like understanding after all. 

 

Ryuji laughed, “you’re on Takamaki.”

  
  
  


 

Shiho ended up being a quiet, nervous girl in their grade with big sad eyes and an aura of so much hurt Ryuji almost choked. It was familiar in a way nothing should ever be familiar, even the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Ann says you’re an empath?” Her voice was friendly, almost a whisper.

 

“Ah,” Ryuji rubbed his neck. “Kinda. Sorry.”

 

People got uncomfortable sometimes, when they found out he could read their emotions like they were strobe lights above their heads. Shiho’s anxiety was a vibrant sickly green, like a flower blooming in the center of her chest. Or a wildfire. Ryuji felt the coiled heat of it like a supernova burning just a few galaxies over. She gave him a long searching look, Ryuji tried his best to not read the myriad of colours pouring from her.

 

“It’s fine,” she said.  _ I’m fine. _

 

Abruptly, like a flower closing its petals, all that remained around Shiho was a pleasant grey buzz. Bland and unassuming.

 

Ryuji nodded, clenching his jaw. Ann stepped closer, her shoes tapping too loudly in the sudden quiet. 

 

“So, let’s get to work then, okay?”

  
  
  
  


 

Ann had learned control through necessity, years ago. She’d been born of two high profile heroes who’d more or less packed up and moved to the big city the minute she’d been born. She spent quality time with them through a long series of post-its and missed calls and inordinately large monthly sums of money. It didn’t do well to have the daughter of the fourth and fifth most popular heroes in the media for publicly using a manipulation quirk. That was a villains quirk, after all. Ryuji remembered how packed her schedule outside of school had been, between different coaches and meetings and practices, and different media events on top of that.

 

Kids avoided her at school because she would make people say things, or so they’d said. That she could mind control them into saying awful, horrible lies. To a group of grade school kids, lying was the worst offense imaginable, lying got you grounded and made you miss recess and meant lectures and disappointment. When they got older it meant humiliation, exposing things that maybe weren’t as untruthful as one pretended.

 

Nobody said anything to her face, of course, but like oil in water, Ann was always at the perfect center of an untouchable field.

 

Ryuji had been as oblivious then as he was now, and didn’t care either way.

 

Ann always wore long gloves, always. Ryuji asked once but she’d flashed so strongly with fear and panic that he’d immediately regretted saying anything. They’d hung out so often he’d gotten used to her company, looked forwards to it every day with the same childlike excitement of meeting a puppy. Of having his first friend. Chasing her away would have been awful, so he’d never asked anything else. Of course, they’d drifted apart anyways. Different schools over different years. A frown and a cocked hip in an empty hallway.

 

Ann’s quirk didn’t manipulate people, it just made them tell the truth. Ryuji knew first hand the truth wasn’t always better.

  
  
  


 

Shiho’s father as it turned out, had a quirk that reacted depending on what he was feeling. Shiho had picked up tips on centering yourself, on letting anger travel through you, about not letting yourself grab hold.

 

Ryuji was grateful, greedily soaking up every piece of advice. His focus was his downfall. He got caught up in feelings just as much as he played between the strings of other peoples flashes of colours and light. Anger was the worst though, anger made explosions like a lightning storm wrapped inside of a hurricane that he had no control over.

 

Ann gave him a strange look when he said as much.

 

“What?” He worked on stretching out his legs, shaking his ankles and pulling his knee tight to his chest.

 

“Are you sure anger was what you were feeling the other day? In that hallway during practice?”

 

Ryuji bristled, a retort bright on his tongue. Her eyes were calculating, like she was trying to solve a puzzle, but something in her screamed reeling blues of pity. He hesitated.

 

Ann shifted her weight, losing her rough edges for a moment. “Cause to me…. It looked more like you were scared.”

 

“Heroes don’t get scared,” Ryuji insisted, a coil of something close to panic igniting in his veins.

 

Shiho and Ann shared a look. Ann shrugged. “Some do.”

 

Ryuji placed walls up high, squared his shoulders. “Not me.” He said with as much finality as he could muster, “Show me that breathing thing again.”

  
  
  
  


 

The pink shirt guy from the welcome video, Sakura Sojiro as he introduced himself, took the class outside to work on limitations. Everyone was motivated, fire eyes and tight fists. All believing their limits were sky high and then some; Ryuji felt smaller, then. He hated it.

 

“Every quirk has a limit, just like any other muscle. You can train it to last longer, to push harder, but it’s not unending. Don’t showboat and blow all your energy at once.” He sighed, pushing his hat higher on his forehead. “But, in order to know your limits, you have to test them. Today’s class is all about seeing how far you can push yourselves.”

 

Ryuji had never tried his quirk to the extreme before. Never wanted to, for good reason. Everyone had seen what happened when Ryuji let himself unleash too much at once, anyways; he focused on what Shiho had said, about breathing and letting thoughts pass through. Ryuji knew his limits in terms of where he refused to let himself go, controlling it was more important.

 

He watched classmates flex, smirk, and settle into ready poses. Walls splintered, infernos bursted forth, clouds darkened. Each of them was momentary, a fleeting show of impressive strength before they were panting and running on fumes. Ryuji felt the energy thrum, bottled up the adrenaline floating around him, amplified it into his legs, and breathed. A few stray gazes met his as he closed his eyes, he felt their anticipation, their uncertainty. _ Their worry. _

 

_ ‘I know who you are’ _

 

His focus spiralled and fell, strength waning as soon as it had started. Twenty pairs of eyes rolled, lost interest and looked away. Ryuji settled onto the balls of his feet instead, pushing the last dregs of electricity into his toes, and ran. 

 

Sojiro- Boss, he corrected- stopped him on his two thousandth lap. Day had long ago given way to evening and night. Ryuji ran all the way home, too. 

  
  
  
  


The next week passed in fever bursts, Ryuji practiced, and ran, and practiced, and breathed. He ran all the way home before his mother got home from her long shifts at worked, to make sure warm supper would be waiting for her, counted his budget, winced and counted again, and picked up lawn work or dog walking or anything extra he could. The budget stretched thinner, his energy waned lower, but he didn’t slow down.

 

He kept his eyes on the reward cash prize for first place at the sports festival and trained harder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited to post this and I want to thank you for reading this so far! If you have any questions or want to yell my way I'm on twitter @jimkirkisajerk or @clankclunk on either twitter or tumblr! I'll try to update every Friday!


	2. It's (Not) Going Tibia Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji competes in the Sports Festival, gains an internship, and loses everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon violence, it's more just mentioned than explicitly detailed but just in case! Also a further warning for child abuse, this time it's a little more detailed, but skimmed over. Just in case that's something that you can't stand reading, it's mostly after "make it thirty".

“Welcome to the Sports Festival!” An announcer crooned overhead as the packed stadium writhed in anticipation.

 

“Everyone say hello to the next generation of heroes! Wow, have a look at this years contestants folks! All of them impressive and strong in their own rights, most certainly, but today we’ll see who truly is the best of the best! Today we find the cream of the crop, the needle in the haystack! Today is where real heroes are born!”

 

The stadium lights were nearly blinding, the field large and imposing, the energy thrumming under Ryuji's fingernails like pinpricks. His classmates all shone in various neon yellows and greens, anxious and scared, some with tinges of inferno oranges and reds. Ryuji flexed, stretched his legs, and focused on nothing in particular whatsoever. 

 

"Everyone who's anyone is gathered to see what this new year of students will bring! Folks, let's get these games rolling!"

 

Ryuji wondered, a split second thought as the other classes filtered in, if his father was watching.

 

 

 

 

The first part was easy enough, dodging obstacles and being the first across a finish line? Basically written into Ryuji’s code. People often said running was falling into a lull, a comforting rhythm of breath and focus. To Ryuji, it was current itself. It was high seas and salt spray and feeling everything and pushing it down to his feet and the ground and just moving.

 

The experience was something in itself, though. If Ryuji could see beyond the thrumming in his veins, he would have been impressed by the finesse Ann used flipping over enemies, cracking whips against metal and cutting through as if it was little more than wet paper. She’d been training since he’d known her, but she hadn’t had whips when they were kids.

 

If he’d been looking, he would have crowed in awe at how Makoto obliterated everything in her way, her knuckles aligned with metals and spikes like something out of a mecha enthusiasts perfect dream. He would have been amazed by how many different talents pulled together and weaved apart, maybe thought something poetic about how seamlessly they all fell into fighting and moving.

 

His attention was swallowed up from the start, however, focusing on two things alone. Checkered finish lines and his mother’s wide smile.

 

He hadn’t come in first, disappointingly; a boy with a mop of black hair and twinkling glasses had all but appeared at the finish line between two blinks. He’d been followed shortly by another boy, all blue hair and long limbs, who had merely skated passed, like there was glass under his feet and in his touch.

 

Ryuji finished third, and he flexed his fingers against the swell of frustration palpable in the webbing of his hand. Whether the feeling was his own or not, he pulled it in closely like it could launch him even farther.

 

 

 

 

The cavalry battle had him teaming up with Ann, who’d summarily grabbed him by his arm and yanked him over to her group without so much as a ‘hello’. The boy who’d won earlier stood with his hands in his pockets, all casual relaxed elegance and round edges. Confidence oozed from his every pore and Ryuji nearly bristled.

 

He caught the boys raised eyebrow and half smirk moments later, “Ah, the lightning boy. Quite the legs you have on you.” and _god_ , his voice was silk, smooth and low and something in Ryuji warmed _almost_ \- fluttered, maybe.

 

 _‘What the hell,_ ’ He frowned, squaring his shoulders and digging his feet into the dirt as if to brace against the boys easy charm; as if to physically fight the amusement he could feel dancing across the back of his neck where the boys eyes rested. “Yeah, sure. Thanks,” he muttered.

 

Shiho stood off to Ann’s side, her elbows hugged tightly around her middle. The spiraling greens were locked up tightly today, buzzing grey even louder around her. She offered him a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes; Ryuji dug a trench in the dirt with his toe, bigger and bigger yet and tried to smile back. He was pretty sure his was as paper thin as hers, but they both kept up appearances well enough. Etiquette was weird, and never his forte. He dug his toe in deeper.  

 

“Akira,” the glasses boy nodded with a small smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

 

“Yeah, same.” He scuffed his toe farther, dragging long lines back and forth, looking anywhere but at the dark mop of hair.

 

“So what’s the plan?” Did Akira always sound like he was laughing? Did he always smile like he was seconds from wolfing someone down in one bite? Who wore fake glasses to a sports festival?

 

Ann linked her pinky with Shiho and nodded towards him, like she knew he’d say yes to their team. Like Ryuji had no one else to join and she was graciously inviting him to something at least, like he would flounder without her help. He wanted to scoff, to throw a laugh over his shoulder and find a group that wouldn’t look at him all pity eyed and uncomfortable. Shiho's shoulders dropped and her smile fell easier around her cheeks. He shoved his hands into his pockets as far as they would go and held his tongue.

 

“We need you to be our legs.” Ann’s voice was flat but something still held wavering expectations, something in the way she instinctively angled herself in front of Shiho made him sad, inexplicably. Not a tangible feeling, not something to pull and amplify. Just, sad.

 

Ryuji huffed, glancing around at the other groups. The kid in their class with the giant quirk had teamed up with a girl who could teleport short distances, the quiet boy with the bandages standing to the side. Mishima, maybe? Ryuji knew he had some kind of communication quirk, could send thoughts and ideas out without speaking, control sound waves, or something. A tough opponent in a team game, definitely. The weird skating ice kid seemed to be gathering with Makoto. Everyone was in pairs and trios already, eyes scanning and flickering away before they made contact. 

 

He frowned, not like any of them would land on him anyways. He guessed Ann probably had a point with her knowing eyes and everything, which made him more annoyed. 

 

“I have a mirror quirk, like, a reflection sort of thing. I can make us invisible,” Shiho offered to Akira. “Only from one direction. And if I’m able to see a big enough area I can shift us to it, like the way a mirror bounces pictures I guess. Short distances but…” She bit her lip, Ann’s pinky tightened around hers.

 

Ryuji leaned his head back, like he was bored. Planning wasn’t his strong suit. Or thinking, or waiting. His leg shook, impatient energy thrumming through his core.  “What about you?” He shrugged towards glasses kid, Akira, _whatever._ Stupid first place winner. Stupid nice voice.

 

He caught Akira’s smirk out of the corner of his eye, his red gloves flashing as the boy pulled them snugly against his long fingers. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of the rest.”

 

Ryuji had to fight not to roll his eyes, he was sure his scowl was dark enough. Who the hell- “For real?” He snorted, but he stopped dragging his toe against the divots he’d formed anyways.

 

Akira chuckled, “don’t worry, nobody’s going to grab this headband. They’ll all just have to settle for second place.”

 

 _God,_ Ryuji wanted to be annoyed so, _so badly._ Overconfidence was bullshit and all. Ann seemed completely unwaveringly confident, though, and something about how Shiho’s elbows relaxed minutely made Ryuji stand up straighter. The buzzing drew inwards and quieted a little, and Ryuji realized confidence was good for some things, sometimes. He tried to make his small frown flicker upwards, he wasn't sure if he succeeded. 

 

“Yeah, sure. Let’s do this.”

 

 

 

 

 

His team had been the target from the start, big points equating big glory and all. Two top three scores on one team was like painting a big neon 'over here!' sign all over them, but Akira had surprised all of them with his planning; orchestrating a few swipes off of smaller teams points while they snuck around the field, before any of them had thought of a strategy at all. The headbands were shuffled at random to keep other teams guessing, but no one got close enough anyways.

 

Ryuji felt like he was missing something the entire battle, like the world around him was in fast-forward and him in slow motion. They skipped between blinks too fast, even with Ryuji’s quirk powering their speed, teams abruptly turning around and leaving occasionally, like they’d forgotten what they’d been doing. He was unruffled, constantly. That smirk playing across his lips as Ann’s whips cracked through the air, blocking attack after attack and Shiho shifted them across the field. Akira looked for all the world like he was in his element, like he was somehow pulling at the air and the tension and feeding off the adrenaline. He was terrifying. Ryuji couldn’t stop staring up at him.

 

A king atop his throne. No, more like a thief reveling in his treasure. 

 

It made Ryuji's gut twist and pull, the energy around them crackling just a little as he pushed them all faster. He almost didn't feel the smirk pulling at his lips, he almost didn't mind either. 

 

 

 

 

Afterwards, he’d patted Ryuji on the shoulder as their names lit up in green and the crowds cheered around them.

 

“Impressive,” he’d smiled. And maybe it was the way the scoreboard blared in a cacophony of colour, maybe it was the sea of heroes cheering beyond that, but Akira’s eyes twinkled gold and red for a brief moment, and Ryuji’s breath caught and held.

 

 

 

Maybe, if Ryuji had paid more attention, if he hadn’t fallen face over feet into the pit of competition, if the electric buzz of it all hadn’t sat so primly on the edges of his teeth, maybe he would have noticed. The one on one battles brought out a side of his classmates that might have made him wary. For some of them, an edge of desperation that might have made him think a little harder.

 

Maybe he would have worried a little more about the way their eyes narrowed and their jaws set, about the curled fists and frowns. Later, he’d wonder why he hadn’t thought to question the way people always circled the weak in classes like sharks drawn to water.

 

 

 

 

The one on one battles were more what he’d anticipated initially; skill on plain old skill. Except, Ryuji's nerves had been so fried all term, he'd consistently been pulling his punches anyways. The stupid smirk kept playing in his head, and he felt untouchable.

 

He won his first battle easily. The cavalry battle had been all about moving faster, changing directions and catching other groups off guard. The first trial had been about being first, being the fastest. Nobody had seen what Ryuji could really do, yet. One on one battles meant he had time to sift through emotions and work up energy through his system without making it obvious.

 

The Mishima kid hadn’t expected the shockwaves rolling off of his first kick; he’d been pushed beyond the ring’s limits before he could so much as blink. The announcer had been stunned for a long quiet moment before everything erupted into sound and noise, but Mishima kept staring blankly at his feet. The darkening nausea that roiled over the kid should have made Ryuji worried, but then, he'd had bigger things to worry about. The way a familiar dark haired teacher corralled him out afterwards with a weird glinting half grimace should have made him hesitate, even just a little bit. 

Instead, Ryuji had just moved towards the stands and ignored the flicker of pure fear that lanced through Shiho's perfect calm, or the way she curled into Ann just a little bit more. They all had bigger things, probably. 

 

 

 

The second battle was against the class president, Makoto herself. He assumed she’d have planned out a careful strategy; her family came from a long line of heroes after all. She’d been trained by the best to uphold ideals and poise, and to think carefully before every action. It all lined up like notebooks on top of day journals in each flicker of her brow, and each thin spiral of concentration pouring off her temples. Before she’d so much as pulled metals from the air, layering them against her fists as her feet shifted into a ready stance, Ryuji had already narrowed in on three different weak points.

 

Empathy came in handy in ways people didn’t expect. He only caught flash glimpses of strong emotions, most of the time. But in the heat of competition, every emotion was strong and forefront. Every thought laced with hope or desperation, and they wrote stories against Ryuji’s chest. For all his opponents knew, they might as well be screaming each move into the tense anticipation laden silence around them. 

 

Everything was impulse and reaction in a fight, and if Ryuji was good at one thing, it was running off impulses. If people felt things, if they let themselves feel as strongly as they did, Ryuji could work with it. He just hoped he'd be quick enough to knock Makoto out of bounds before she caught on. 

 

Makoto was brute strength on the field, but her mind was sharper than any metal blade- she was no doubt going to be swooped up by a high ranking hero the second Boss called the end to the festival. However, as much as her quirk made her body into impenetrable armor, she couldn’t hide her heart. 

 

But she felt. And Ryuji ate it up. He ignored the part of his brain that worried about things like limits and kindnesses, and focused on the cash prize at the end of everything. How much his mom had been working lately, how tired. The way her face would light up as she pulled him in for a hug. She wasn't happy a lot, he wanted to make her happy. 

 

 _There's always something good, Ryuji._ He held onto his one good thing in a tight fist around his heart and squared his shoulders. 

 

“Hey Makoto,” he shouted, they both waited for the call that the battle had begun with hawk sharp gazes, snapping up every shift and twitch with anticipation. “Your sisters’ here, right? The number two hero? Jeeze, that’s pretty cool, but man....”

 

He felt the way her heart skipped before he saw her eyes widen. He grinned.

 

“That must be a lotta pressure,” he shrugged. “I couldn’t handle all that. Knowing if I failed I'd be puttin' that on her too? Good luck.”

 

Ryuji wasn’t smart in the useful ways, it’s not that he was good at pulling at people’s weak points or conducting them into breaking themselves apart, sometimes it was just obvious. Makoto’s focus was layered in worry and nervousness, in bundles of self doubt and a constant awareness of a specific pair of eyes trained solely on her. He knew that feeling, in parts and pieces over the years, in a different layer but still the same center. She was aching for approval, for an Okay she'd never get. She didn't even want to fight, probably. Not really at least, he'd been there. 

 

The call went out for the start of the battle, Makoto hesitated for half a second.

 

Ryuji had been pulling the spark of worry that shot through her slowly, just enough to twist against the soles of his feet and make him that much faster than her. Just enough to catch the air of surprise as she stepped slightly too far backwards.

 

He’d grabbed her by the shoulders- gently, he had to make sure, _gently_ \- and pushed her to the boundaries before her surprise could even register.

 

He hadn’t expected the pure panic afterwards, though. Or the way her eyes immediately shot to someone in the crowd like the ground had fallen out from under her feet at the loss. Maybe if Ryuji could think beyond the swell of emotion around him, he would have reacted. Maybe followed her, maybe reached out. Maybe if he'd stopped worrying about his One Good Thing, he might have worried about someone else's.

 

He didn’t know what he would have done.

 

 

 

 

Glasses boy, Akira, was the final round. He sauntered onto the ring with his hands tucked into his pockets and a smirk playing on his lips, his glasses reflecting the stadium lights around them and hiding his gaze. Ryuji’s palms sweat the second Akira’s smirk twitched and widened as he stepped closer, a tension spiking in his chest like a guitar string pinging against his rib cage. He'd been watching the other battles, of course he had. It was just that Akira's were so confusingly short, he hadn't gleaned anything useful in the slightest anyways. It had only made him more worried, more frustrated too. 

 

“Oh, it’s you,” Akira said, pleased.

 

Ryuji clenched his fists, deepened his frown, and shifted his weight.

 

Akira ducked his head in Ryuji’s direction, like a friendly nod, like they knew each other at all, as he pulled his red gloves snugly against his long fingers. Ryuji forced himself to meet Akira’s eyes, or the approximation of where his eyes should be.

 

“Yeah, real shame I gotta cut this so short,” Ryuji smirked back, glad for a moment that at least Akira's quirk wasn't empathy based. _Oh, shit, what if it was?_ Akira laughed, quiet and soft but imposing somehow, and flipped the bottom of his training uniform like it were a cape. _How did he make that look cool? It was a shirt? How did he even flip it like that?_

“You’re so... interesting, Sakamoto-san.” Ryuji’s chest leapt funnily, and he grit his teeth. Sakamoto. That name held weight, and Akira knew. Yet, he'd chosen to group up with him anyways? Ryuji's temples ached in confusion and he grit his teeth harder. Well, anyone who knew his dad knew what he was capable of, then. No point in holding back.

 

“Now, show me your true form.” Akira's teeth flashed again in the light, and he melded into shadows that had crawled forward into the ring, and blinked out of sight.

 

 

Ah, _shit._

 

 

 

 

The battle was short; Ryuji could feel himself reaching his limits even before the anger sapped the strength in his legs. Akira kept taunting him, pulling his focus out, letting the ripples of emotion he cultivated in his chest morph into frustration, encouraging him to let them out in bursts and fizzing sparks. His quirk relied on focus, on keeping a level head and feeling his legs as an extension of the emotions bubbling around him. If he drew them in too closely, if he felt them too deeply in the center of his chest, they’d get tangled like burrs around his lungs and his heart. His legs relied on the numb blank state he felt in his toes when he ran, the way his steps became his heartbeat and everything became the puffs of air in his throat. But Akira was just so damn _touchy._

 

Frustration caught up to him in waves as Akira tapped his shoulder lightly, causing him to whirl around to a wall of nothing. A smile fading into the blank ether as Akira slipped back into the shadows.

 

Akira pranced around him still, seemingly never tired, never aiming to hit. Ryuji hated it, he hated the anger, the tense aura around everything that seeped into his skin and stained him from the veins outwards. He was tired, he was frustrated, he was antsy to get away from the prying eyes and forced smiles and all the effin’ heros with their large paycheques and unsympathetic laughter.

 

“What do you want?” Ryuji was boiling over, confusion latching around his knees and shins like a vice. “Why won’t you hit me?!”

 

He shot a test wave of electricity outwards with a kick, a guesstimate of where the last echo of laughter had seeped outwards from. The darkness only spread closer, Ryuji took a quick step back. 

 

"A tense game folks!" The announcer crowed, "Although, I'm not too sure if this is Sakamoto's game of cat and mouse, or if he's the mouse!" _Yeah,_ Ryuji thought bitterly, _no kidding._

 

By all accounts, Akira should have won. His quirk was incredible, manipulating shadows or _something,_ nearly imperceptible in movements and impossible to track. He was terrifying, calculating. For all Ryuji’s speed he couldn’t be fast enough. For all of his strength, he couldn’t land a single hit. Worst of all, Akira was a blank slate. No emotional tells, no moments of hesitation. His aura permeated only with amusement, in little pin pricks, like he was playing with him, and it made Ryuji impossibly furious.

 

He aimed another kick at Akira, a wall of electric energy only slamming into the stadium wall beyond as Akira blinked out of the way. He was panting for breath now, faintly hearing the confusion he felt echoed in the commentary over head.

 

 _God damn this,_ he thought. _Playing with me like it’s a joke, like it doesn’t matter._ He was thinking of his mother, of the wad of cash that came with winning and how her eyes would light up with pride. He was thinking about a vacation he could take her on, about a new house with new memories. I just want to be good enough, dammit. _Let me be good._ He hated so much of the way the heat built up behind his eyes as he gasped for breath, of how small he suddenly felt. Like a diseased cell under a microscope, one second from being eliminated entirely.

 

_I thought I could do this one thing, stupid. Stupid rotten Ryuji._

 

Suddenly, another emotion prickled in the gaps between his ribs. Faint, but scalding.

 

Akira hesitated, Ryuji saw him hesitate, and he should have attacked. Should have taken the moment and ran with it, made Akira regret ever going easy on him. But the feeling stuck against his lungs was different, something he’d never felt before and it wormed against his heart like a brand. 

 

The current powering Ryuji’s legs went still, Akira’s wide eyes trained only on him.

 

By all accounts, Akira should have won.

 

But the boy had turned around, and walked out.

 

 

 

 

Standing on the podium felt unreal; he’d done it. He’d shown the world Sakamoto wasn’t just a name to be feared, that it could be more. He’d set out to win and he had, he got the big check and the pleasantly surprised claps and smiles, but it didn’t feel _right_.

 

Ryuji would have lost, he’d been nearing his limits- he’d felt it in the way his legs shook and his breath caught and his anger had stuck and held. He’d felt it in the brief moment of panic just before Akira left. He would have came in second place, where Akira should have been when Boss placed the medal around Ryuji’s neck.

 

“It seems our second place contestant was feeling unwell,” Boss explained to the disappointed hum of the audience. “But we should focus on our winner, Sakamoto Ryuji, and his display of fortitude and-”

 

Ryuji tuned the rest out, his hands unconsciously fiddling with the heavy weight settling on his neck.

 

He’d trained and he’d practiced and _Akira would have won._

 

So why didn't he?

 

The crowds were cheering, applauding him, and people went on about how he was surely the best U.A. had to offer, how he was a hero, and Ryuji shoved his doubts and worries to the farthest corner of his mind and forced himself to believe he was enough.

 

For a moment, seeing his mom’s smile and teary eyes in the audience, beyond his touched surprise and love, he almost did.

 

 

 

 

Ryuji trained hard. He practiced constantly, ran laps at home when he wasn’t willing himself to extend his focus, to see beyond the swirling mass of thick emotions lodged in his throat and against his heart. He landed an internship, just a temporary one but when he’d walked in the front door, his mother had sensed his surprise before he could even speak and hugged him so tightly he could only laugh. The big sum of money had gone towards a new stove, new door hinges, and the rest he'd tucked away in her wallet when she wasn't looking. 

 

He worked part time in the odd hours in between at a convenience store. Barely making enough pocket change to buy extra cartons of milk, to fix the leaky sink, to slap paint across cracking walls, but it was good. For once, it felt like he was doing something. His mom smiled wider, some days. The tired lines of her eyes extending into something almost relaxed, almost genuine.

 

“I’m proud of you,” she pressed a smile into the top of his head one evening, twining her arms around him and pulling him close to her side. Her warmth was tangible, love like a wool sweater on a chilled day; he wanted to bundle himself up in it, slide it into his front pocket and never let it go. She kept trying to make him take the extra money, to let her pay for the broken things around the house, but she was so busy and Ryuji needed her to keep it.“You shouldn't be working so hard, Ryu. I only hope you can find time to enjoy things for yourself.” 

 

He did, though. He found little pockets of wonderful things and he kept them tightly against his chest, peering at them only in the comforting silence of the night. Like his mother’s surprised smile when she found the fridge full of food after a long week of work, like the way she blinked too fast after seeing the necklace he’d saved up for. Like the way she seemed calmer, now. Safe, now.

 

Ryuji held tightly onto the good things, and worked even harder.

 

 

 

 

The good things piled up, nice little shelves of thoughts Ryuji could skim over and think, _Okay. This, I have this too._ Which only made it harder to handle when the bad things towered even taller, as they always eventually did.

 

 

 

 

People often tried to describe running to him in measurements; in distances, and times, and laps around and around in circles. They made it sound impressive, like he should be amazed that they’d counted in the first place.

 

Ryuji only focused on his need to be faster, when he ran. About how each step brought him closer to helping, how each breath propelled him into the next one.

 

Interning under Kamoshida meant he had to be better, it meant he would never stop needing to be better.

 

“You’re only as good as your quirk”, Kamoshida told him. “You’re as good as useless, if you’re slow,” he said.  Ryuji believed him, he saw his times and saw nothing. He was only able to help if he was better than the best.

 

“As the number one hero,” Kamoshida said. “I know what’s best for up and coming trainees like you. Don’t expect to reach my level, especially if you can’t even finish this training exercise.” Ryuji felt like his legs were floating, his breaths poured out of him in wheezes and gasps but he forced himself upright one more time. One more lap. If he puked Kamoshida would just make him run longer.

 

“You’ll have to prove yourself worth my advice,” Kamoshida frowned. “Can’t expect a hero like me to deal with a villain’s mistake, can we?”

 

When the bruises started splashing across his skin again, he’d almost walked out of the training facility, he’d almost run home and told his mother and the principle and the police. Something kept him from saying anything, from going anywhere. Maybe it was the way he was pretty sure Kamoshida was right, maybe it was the way he'd been so sure he was on the right path for once, leaving felt like a defeat he couldn't bear.

 

“Remember, Sakamoto.” Kamoshida caught him by the arm with a feral look in his eyes. “I’m ‘the King’, the most respected hero in the world. Who are you?”

 

 

 

 

Ryuji ran into Shiho in the hallway once; he hadn’t meant to talk, late for practice with Kamoshida, but her eyes went round and haunted when she saw the bandage taped to his cheek. His feet wouldn’t carry him farther no matter how badly he wanted to hide. Shiho had helped him, she'd been patient and kind and worried, she made Ann soft and gentle in a way no one else ever could. Shiho deserved better than his cowardly pathetic self, he wanted to try to be brave around her. He wondered if she was one of those one in one billion people who fluked out with two quirks. 

 

“Ryuji, I wanted to congratulate you on your hard work,” She smiled. “I heard you got an internship with, um, with the King. The whole school is talking about how amazing you are.”

 

He ducked his head, bringing a hand to his neck bashfully. “For real? Aw, it’s nothing. Kamoshida says I ain’t worth shit anyways.”

 

She paused at the words, biting her lip with fingers fluttering at her sides. “You know,” her voice went softer, her eyes flickered down the hallway. “my quirk only works from one side. I can’t hide everything.” She glanced up, dark eyes boring into his like she'd given him some great terrible secret. Like his weren't so deeply buried at all. The green anxious bloom she’d kept boxed up around him poured outwards, a hectic mass of hysteric fear and hopelessness and something so achingly desperate it made Ryuji audibly gasp.

 

A bucket of ice water splashed across his heart, something like pop rocks fizzing against his chest, acid against his heart and he _didn’t understand_ but her smile was so jagged he paled anyways. He was turning and running down the hallway before he could process why.

 

 

 

 

Kamoshida never gave him pointers, never tried to learn what made Ryuji’s quirk effective or work around his limits. Maybe if Ryuji had been smarter he’d have figured it out then. Ryuji had never been smart, though.

 

“Fifteen more laps through this course if you mess up the jump again,” Kamoshida crossed his arms and raised a brow at Ryuji’s exhausted huff. “Oh? Or are you too tired? You know, most heroes can do this right on the first try.”

 

Ryuji shut his eyes, clenched his fists. “Start it again.”

 

 

 

 

He was only training for a few weeks, but it was enough for truths to emerge in insidious ways. The King was the only one allowed to sit upon his throne after all.

 

 

 

 

He had two other interns, the Mishima kid, who’s quirk more or less let Kamoshida get away with everything- _Mishima, encourage that hag to read more on my heroics, Mishima, that idiot hasn’t fawned over me today, why don’t you help him? Mishima, I don’t think that kid fears me enough, give him a show, Mishima there’s a journalist snooping around my past interns, convince her it’s not worth her time._ Ryuji didn’t think for a moment Mishima wanted to do anything Kamoshida asked, but his families pockets were running a little short and Kamoshida could pay for his schooling at U.A., if he was good. But Mishima wouldn’t have passed the entrance exam if not for the King’s recommendation. But Mishima’s parents didn’t care anyways.

 

His other intern was an angry, rich kid who Kamoshida was clearly using for the profit bonuses and social links; Kamoshida dangled his prospective career in front of the guy like a cat toy, fed him lofty goals for who he could be if he just stayed quiet and played along. Ryuji wasn’t sure the guy, Nano- something, really cared what happened to Mishima or himself anyways, his eyes went big and round every time Kamoshida mentioned being ‘famous’. Ryuji had to fight not to roll his eyes.

 

Kamoshida had them all on leashes, found ways into their fears and goals and tied them down with fear and doubt and despair. Ryuji thought he was stronger than this, that nothing Kamoshida did to him would ever get under his skin because he'd done this before. He'd thought of it like a virus, that his body had figured out how to kick it out of his system last time, that he wouldn't catch it ever again. It was only for a few weeks more anyways, then he’d make sure he told everyone about the shit Mishima had to put up with. He’d make the effin’ bastard regret everything.

 

“Sakamoto, do twenty more laps on top of your current list.”

 

“W-what? Why?”

 

“I don’t like your attitude, who gave you the right to talk back? Make that thirty.”  

 

 

 

 

They had picked hero names, a few days before the incident. Ryuji had picked his out carefully years before, when the yellow lights of the counselors office were still as fresh in his mind as the purple bruises on his arms. He’d been thinking about twisting his fate in his small hands and making it his when his father had decided to burst into his room screaming about something or other.

 

_“When are you going to get it through your thick skull?” He’d yelled, “You do what I tell you, when I tell you, brat!”_

 

Ryuji had thought having a thick skull was the only reason he’d walked off being thrown into his nightstand, he thought having a thick skull meant he was stronger than he looked.

 

“Skull,” he said evenly, presenting the card with his messy scrawl. Kawakami pursed her lips with a long pause resounding through the room.

 

“Well, it’s… not conventional, that’s for sure,” she offered, Ryuji was unflinching.

 

“It’s the strongest part of the human skeleton ain’t it? That’s like… the peak of human strength!”

 

Kawakami blinked; she tapped her lips in thought for a moment with a small hum.

 

“Um, sensei, if I may?” Makoto, sitting primly front row and center raised her hand, Kawakami nodded. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

 

“Thank you,” she stood, folding her hands in front of her, her serious eyes locked on his. “I think, for a hero to be represented by a skull, they’d need to be particularly strong. It’s an emblem that carries weight, notoriety. A hero would have to overcome that and create a trust to override what a skull typically represents. That being death potentially, or punk behavior, poison, the like.” Makoto pushed a strand of hair behind her ears, closing her eyes as she spoke. “A skull isn’t a friendly image to create in a citizen’s mind. However,” her eyes snapped to Ryuji’s with an intensity that made his fingers tighten on his cue card enough to crease the paper. “I believe if any of our representing class were to overturn paradigms, Sakamoto-san would be the best choice. He’s won the public’s admiration for the time being, any name he chooses would be fitting.”

 

Kawakami hummed again, “well, I definitely couldn’t have said it half as well if I tried, so… I suppose there’s no sense in arguing. Don’t make me regret allowing this, Skull.”

 

 

 

 

He’d believed then that he’d be able to weather any punishments Kamoshida could throw his way. _He’d thought I’ve done it before, I can make it through again. When a bone breaks,_ he'd told himself, _it grows back stronger._

 

Kamoshida had pushed him through a drill that had nearly made him puke while climbing the side of a steel wall the next day. The day after he’d passed out from a direct hit when Kamoshida had lost his temper briefly at a snarky remark Ryuji had whispered too loudly under his breath. It had been explained as a training accident, but he’d been told if they didn’t have a support staff with healing quirks- a strange cat kid who licked with a sandpapery tongue that healed and Ryuji adamantly refused to think too much about- he’d have potentially fallen into a coma.

 

They’d shown him the X-Ray taken before they’d healed him up and sent him home, his eyes still traced the three cracked lines later in his dreams.

 

 

 

Kamoshida had a multiplying quirk, he could create a small army of guards out of inanimate objects. His favorite being his own trophies, volleyballs, metal bits he kept in his pockets. There was technical jargon to go along with it, but it didn’t matter.

 

“You’ll be nothing without me, you know that? Do fifteen more sets before sundown, or the whole team’s going to have to face special punishment.”

 

All Ryuji needed to know was that it made him really good at overpowering kids, and even better at keeping his bloody fingerprints out of the picture.

 

 

 

 

Some kid he’d never talked to before asked him what it was like to have everyone know where your bruises came from but nobody do anything about it. Another boy cornered him in the locker room and asked if they’d all have to hear about his daddy issues on TV when Ryuji became a villain.

 

Ryuji stopped the boy’s laughter before it even bubbled out of his throat as he pushed him against a locker and asked him who the _hell_ had told him.

 

If Ryuji had been smarter, maybe he would have pieced together the way the festival felt like blood in the water faster. Maybe he would have realized the undercurrent of anger wasn’t his own, that being the ‘hero of the school’ was just another challenge.

 

Ryuji had tripped somewhere without noticing, everyone was just waiting for him to fall.

 

 

 

 

Ryuji’s trust in U.A., in heroes and the academy and all the lines in between, broke in two parts.

 

The first was quick, a stutter step of a moment like the second where both feet are in the air, where the ground rushes up and springboards into the next leap. The ground was there, him rushing towards it somewhere in between, but the springboard was missing.

 

Kamoshida’s self assured smirk lasted the two foot falls it took for Ryuji to cross his office, it lasted the ten more when Ryuji had winded up, fist reared back and ready to fly. It lasted the thirty minutes afterwards, with Ryuji nearly whiting out from the pain of his leg, as he told the police officer it was a matter of ‘self defense’, and it grew wider when the officer nodded in response.

 

“Of course,” the cop said, putting his thumbs tucked up against his belt buckle, eyeing the wall of achievements and awards just over Kamoshida’s shoulder. “Of course.”

 

The second break was a slow dawning realization, that he’d never be more than his past after all.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter was a little more exciting for you, also, Poor Ryuji :(


	3. I hear you're into bad boys, don't wanna brag but i don't look both ways before crossing the street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything gets way way way worse before it gets just a little bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague warning for some not so nice language and some not so nice characters! Posting this a little early because tomorrow's a busy day!

 

 

The rumors spiralled in waves. Ryuji had missed the first swell, drugged up and bandaged in a hospital room, dangling somewhere between dreaming and being uncomfortably awake. The whispers grew and sank without his input, growing in the spaces he'd broken apart. 

 

The second one had smacked into his rib cage with all the weight of an earthquake the moment he’d stumbled into the classroom, crutches and bandages like neon signs in the sudden quiet.

 

He’d expected stares, sure. He’d expected anger too. The reporters lined just beyond the walls like hawks had to have already started spewing rumors and half baked truths. Whispers circulated fast and Kamoshida had loudly claimed self defense before Ryuji had been able to get a single slow blink in edgewise. And, of course, who wouldn't believe the King. Ryuji had known, too, that anger would be just the tip of the iceberg, after the fifth TV show host had asked Kamoshida all over the news " _What really happened?"_

He’d already seen glares and had his share of angry ranting earlier when the other intern, the rich one - Nakaoka -  stormed into the locker room and blamed Ryuji for everything. Absolutely everything from his lost internship to the negative media to the stock share drops on the other side of the city on a company Ryuji had never heard of.  He’d said that Ryuji’s actions had put all of his ‘students’ on probation, that without Kamoshida’s approval they were unlikely to ever make it anywhere after this.

He’d yelled back that none of it mattered anyways, that Kamoshida wasn’t going to let them ever be anything, couldn’t Nakaoka see? And people called Ryuji an idiot.

 

He also expected the blow that landed under his chin, and hoped Nakaoka wouldn’t end up like Kamoshida, that he wouldn’t funnel his hatred towards anyone else. Ryuji hoped this would be the end of it, but he felt himself finding his own words thin and fake in the light of Nakaoka's twisted hatred. He watched Nakaoka glare at the startled students down the hall and couldn’t find it in him to believe much of anything. 

 

His leg healed slowly, eventually well enough for him to hobble to school for more than just endless meetings. He was grateful, tired of hearing about how he was ‘lucky’. Lucky to still be enrolled, lucky that he could at least walk. Lucky that he could still feel every amount of the teacher’s discomfort and disapproval in dealing with him. Lucky that the spark he’d always felt thrumming through his veins stopped somewhere short of his feet now, sucked into a void of pain and an ache that would never entirely leave.

 

The school had been rocked by the development also, the internship programs cut short, the sports festival called into question, the judges for the entrance exam thoroughly questioned. Headlines swirled about exactly what kinds of heroes U.A allowed to succeed in their walls, if someone like him could make it in. If _Sakamoto’s kid_ could pass the entrance exam.

 

Ryuji expected anger, disappointment. He braced for rejection and frustration. It wasn’t like he’d had many friends anyways, being so focused on training and control. There couldn't possibly be that many people to disappoint, right?

 

He hadn’t, however, expected the visceral white-hot heat that boiled his classroom from the inside out, or the disgust painted on every single face in the hallway, or the way their hate was palpable enough to cause his vision to swim and sink. Hatred, he could handle, revulsion was something else. 

 

 

 

The whispers met him later, after he’d stumbled blindly into a bathroom stall, hyperventilating off the chaotic mass of negative emotions pulling at his skin and teeth.

 

“That Sakamoto kid,” they spat his name, trampled on it, dug their heels in and twisted. “Who does he think he is? I can’t believe they haven’t kicked him out, going after a professional hero like that. He really fucked things up for Nakaoka, you hear that? Man, how'd that asshole even get this far? Nakaoka said he was just flat out embarrassing in training, just cried and puked.”

 

Someone laughed. “Sounds like he just knows he’s not good enough if you ask me. You saw the sports festival shit, right? He probably threatened that last guy or something. Not that it matters anymore now that his legs shot to hell. Dude's whole quirk is in his legs. He's a teenage wash out already.”

 

Another voice spoke up, Ryuji could hear the smirk in his words. “You guys didn’t hear about his dad, huh? Everyone in 1-A was talking about it. Guys a freak. His dad’s a villain, pretty well known to our parents and shit I guess. Apparently used him for some extra practice time if you know what I mean. Sakamoto’s got major daddy issues.” The boy snorted. “Probably going to end up a villain at some point too, but I mean. I wouldn’t say no to a chance to kick his scrawny ass.”

 

Ryuji clenched his fingers so tightly into his pants leg his fingers cramped, he pressed his forehead tighter to his knees, willing the words to stop. Willing them to continue, to give him a reason to-

 

“Tch. I heard his mom’s got some weak empathy quirk. Probably where he got all the fucking dramatics from. I wonder if he didn’t spread all these rumors himself,  just for some pity votes, you know? That’s why they let him in the school in the first place, he probably cried.”

 

There was a few laughs, a voice fake sobbing between derisive snorts. Ryuji’s shoulders went stiff, his eyes wide.

 

“Bet his mom made it up too, you know how those empathy bitches are-”

 

The bathroom stall door slammed so hard into the wall, the tiles cracked. A slow trail of crevasses spreading outwards like a spider webs, tracing into the ceiling.

 

“Get out,” the voice that escaped his lips was foreign, and far too familiar at once. The three boys stared, eyes wide and fear like razors on Ryuji’s tongue.

 

“I said,” He stepped forwards, crutches abandoned. “Get. The hell. Out.”

 

They scrambled over each other to leave; an echo of terror and helplessness and something that reminded him of old days, hiding in rooms with doors he knew could keep nothing out at all, stung the air. Nearly taunting him in the way the stall door hung barely on, warped and twisted from the force of his kick. He hadn’t been scared this time. The irony of it was like tar against his tongue.

 

He really just had no control at all. He was dangerous, like they said.

 

Ryuji’s leg spasmed, agony whirling like acid in his muscles; the strength he’d pulled evaporating in an instant. He fell against the wall behind him, abruptly exhausted in ways that seemed to hollow out his bones, replacing his blood with lead and acid all at once.

 

For a moment, he wondered if it wasn’t better this way, if it wasn’t safer that he couldn’t be a hero. If in stealing his future, Kamoshida had stopped something from formulating that would have only broke and busted and tore everything apart. Dust spun in tight circles from the ceiling, endlessly looping and twinkling in the flickering fluorescent lights.

 

For a moment, Ryuji was glad.

 

 

 

 

 

The worst part wasn’t the words, not even the anger or the sick coiling feeling that grew in his chest with every passing day. The worst part was when they called his mother to the school; they had reporters swarming them and tensions higher than ever and everyone was looking for an outlet, and his mother was easy.

 

Ryuji had been told to wait in the hallway, perfectly in line to hear every word as it seeped out of the door and reverberated across the empty chairs, perfectly in place to imagine his mother’s expression.

“He ruined his chances, you know.”

 

“Kamoshida is a respected hero and teacher, he’s an inspiration and we are grateful for him and his talents.”

 

“Attacking a hero in broad daylight? You’re lucky Kamoshida doesn’t want to press charges, and asked us not to expel him.”

 

“The nurses said his quirk is done for, we’re going to have to move him out of 1-A. We’re thinking of putting him in the general track, he’s got your empathy doesn’t he? Shame that didn’t prevent his anger issues.”

 

“Is that hereditary too? I heard the boy's father-”

 

Ryuji plugged his ears, nauseated by the cold emptiness he could feel in the middle of the swirl of disgust and anger. The worst part wasn’t anything any of them could possibly say, it wasn’t that his dreams of helping were done for, it wasn’t that he was only allowed to stay in U.A. at all on the good graces of the villain who’d taken everything.

 

It was the way his mother endured it all without a word. It was the fact she seemed so small, in the car home. It was in the way his chest broke and shattered and splintered when she put a shaking hand on his shoulder.

 

“I’m…. I’m so sorry, Ryuji.”

 

He wished he could explain, that his mother was his one good thing. That her shuttered and red rimmed expression was more painful than his injury, that it was worse than anything his father had ever done, because she’d still had hope then. He’d taken the sunshine, by fucking up. By believing for a moment that heroes ever had to face consequences, that adults remembered how to apologize when they grew up.

 

He placed his hand on hers, squeezing lightly. Sorry’s ran endlessly on the tip of his tongue, fighting against the backs of his teeth but he couldn’t speak them. Something in him rebelled at the thought of making this real, of locking himself up inside this pathetic excuse for a hero who couldn't even defend himself properly. Who couldn't control his anger or his quirk. He didn't want to admit that he'd never run again, let alone the lurking writing mess of everything else he'd done. She would feel it anyways, the guilt and regret lining his shoulders was impossible to ignore.  She pulled her hand away, and didn’t look at him.

 

The worst part was that he knew his mother felt the same.

 

 

 

 

There was something unsettling in watching crowds part, in stepping into a classroom and watching everyone shift away from his desk as far as they could go. The first few days it made him feel nauseous and grossed out, thinking people would ever see him as a bully. Then, one day, he walked into class and saw them gathered around the chalkboard, drawing someone who looked an awful lot like a certain fuck up Ryuji knew, and snickering. He stopped wondering if he was the bully after that. 

 

Sunday evening he went out and found a bottle of bleach and grabbed his kitchen scissors and decided he could be every bit as much of a delinquent as they wanted him to be. After all, there was something strengthening in knowing he’d taken the leash, switched up the game until he was the one with all the cards, and everyone was waiting to see what he’d do next.

 

Ryuji slammed his books on his desk Monday morning, and watched several people jump. It made his stomach twist, it made him want to claw at his skin and run away until every look of fear in their eyes didn’t remind him so much of himself.

 

It made a spark alight in his chest, a vindictive slither across his spine.  _Yeah, that's right._ He found himself smirking.  _This punching bag fights back._

 

He drew his shoulders up tightly around his ears as if it could block out the whispers, stared at the blackboard as if it could block out their expressions, and tried not to think. The smirk stayed for the first while, the glare stayed longer still.

 

He knew what they started saying about him. They told each other to stay far away, that getting involved with a kid like Sakamoto could ruin your reputation. Even sitting near him would make professional heroes turn away.  It was fine, really. Ryuji’d never needed anyone before, he sure didn’t now.

 

His father’s blood ran through his veins after all. Who knew when he’d snap next.

 

 

 

 

 

Ryuji’s mother seemed to shrivel into herself in the following weeks, like a pantomime had replaced everything about her. The rooms were still, now. Curtains always draws, shadows cast long and looming in empty corners.  His house was constantly filled with a deep edged sorrow that prickled under his skin when he sat still. The feeling built up between them, an unintentional game of tennis maybe, one sponging up the emotions and amplifying and launching it back. His mother was a trained professional, usually she could avoid moments like this and send out something calming, encourage Ryuji to think of sunshine and ice cream and cozy blankets. Usually.

 

Ryuji knew how it worked though. Emotions were fickle things that fizzled out and dried apart when you forced them. There wasn’t enough sunlight these days to fill in the gaps.

 

Ryuji stayed out later and later. Sneaking into his bedroom after the hall light had blinked out, leaving only when her slow shuffling feed prodded back into her bedroom or down the hall. He waited for the jingling of house keys before he dared to break the stillness.  

 

He wandered around a lot after school, stopped caring about homework and his already slipping grades, skipped classes just under the amount that would get him actually kicked out of school. He elected to wearing obnoxious shirts to school, played up the bad boy act to keep people from talking too much near him, and drowned in the anger and negativity clogging his lungs every day.

He told himself it was pointless, that he wouldn't be a hero anyways. That his mom wasn't smiling anymore. That this was all his old man’s fault, all Kamoshida’s doing. It was his fault also, but he could fix it, he could redeem himself but only through one thing. He told himself he'd make the King fall one day.

 

He stopped filtering anger, stopped focusing on ignoring it. And it stuck.

 

 

 

 

His leg was all but shot to hell, even after the therapy sessions and the crutches and the doctors visits. A quirk specialist had taken one look, and his face twisted in sympathy. Ryuji didn’t need to understand the terminology after that. He could use his good leg, but he couldn’t run anymore. He could channel emotions into shockwaves still, but the drain had been unplugged somewhere along the line. A smog clouded over everything else, making him unpredictable, his power overwhelming. It sparked out like a frayed wire and no amount of centered breathing could fix it, which meant in no uncertain terms that he wasn't meant to ever use it again. At least, the chances weren't good. 

 

Ryuji found himself growing into a bit of a pessimist these days. 

 

 

 

One day he came to school and saw an ambulance parked out front, rows of students gathered around with somber expressions. Like rows of neatly placed tombstones on a hilltop. The red and blue lights flashed against a familiar blonde’s wet cheeks as he was bundled off in the ensuing crowd and carried away from the scene.

 

Later the principal announced that Shiho had been injured in a training exercise, but they couldn't be certain what had happened. Kamoshida somberly explained he'd tried to help, but that she'd fallen tragically off of the rooftop after a tense conversation. If Ryuji hadn't known better, he might have almost believed Kamoshida. If Ryuji hadn't met Shiho, seen her quiet resolve and loyal heart, he'd maybe have felt bad for the teacher that hadn't saved his student in time. Instead, Ryuji remembered their hallway talk, her snippets of fear and panic. Instead, Ryuji looked up the school awards and found out Shiho had been part of Kamoshida's mentorship program. One that had only lasted a few weeks, one that contained Mishima and Shiho and a whole lot of fudged details. 

 

Ryuji might have believed Kamoshida if he hadn't seen Shiho talking to Ann the day before, all clenched fists and sharp frowns to Ann's bewildered concern and fluttering reaching hands. He could almost see it, impossibly brave and selfless Shiho trying to stand down the man that had threatened her into silence, probably listing off months of piled evidence that could definitely raise some red flags around Kamoshida's actions. She'd probably been nothing but poised and calm, all bundled up behind her fizzling grey, until Kamoshida had snapped first. 

 

Ryuji knew how an array of quirk made guards could overpower even the strongest quirks, even the fastest or the smartest. 

 

He ached to visit her at the hospital, to maybe beg her forgiveness for not being smart enough to understand earlier. For not heeding her warnings or thanking her when he could. He thought about visiting Ann and holding her gloved hands in his sticky ones just like when they were kids until she stopped believing she was alone again. The news reports skipped over Shiho entirely, more and more conspiracies about the 'wild U.A. youth who'd nearly assassinated the Golden Hero, King' cropped up in the airtime slots, on more and more channels. Ryuji figured neither Shiho or Ann needed the connotation of him hanging around. 

 

Ryuji carried the ghost of Shiho's wide knowing eyes with him every step after that. He could tell, with every day of excused absence Ann took after that, she carried something in her too. 

 

 

 

 

He liked to walk along the train tracks on the far side of town, most evenings. The bustling of carts loud enough to drown out his spiraling thoughts, the brief brushes of complex thoughts and feelings enough to buzz under his fingernails. Maybe part of him liked the danger, too. Knowing villains lairs lurked around any corner and none at all, that he could be spotted by a vigilante citizen, that anything at all could happen.

 

Some days, he thought he was maybe waiting for that anything. That he was tempting it in any way he could. 

 

He stayed out later and later as the shadows cast themselves longer across hallway walls and seeped under his bedroom door. The train tracks got quieter.

 

 

 

 

Saturday nights were bad times to be lurking about in the red light district, they said. Trouble was always brewing just outside of the street lights. _But,_ Ryuji thought, _if you were the trouble, all you had to do was stay out of sight._

 

The moon’s glow was barely enough to highlight the glint of the blade he spotted in the dark, but he’d have heard the laugh first anyways. Part of him was full of synergistic masochism, like every self hating thought had turned inwards with barbs and cheered in chorus that this is _what he deserved_. The other part almost craved the potential violence. He wasn't sure which side was worse. 

 

A group of costumed villains stepped forwards in the distance, inside of a faint ring of a reflected glow from a train stop light, red and wavering. He’d seen the ring leader before, once. On TV years ago.

 

 _‘The ‘eff?’_   Ryuji snuck a step closer, _‘How’s this guy still around?’_ Extract wasn’t a big name villain by any means, just loud, destructive. He’d leveled a parking complex back then, a band of heroes had knocked him out after a fairly short battle, but the complex hadn’t been far from his house. It had been close enough police had knocked on their door with questions for his father, because, what horrible event wasn't the Sakamoto name tied to back then. His quirk allowed him to pull things apart, like he could reach in and tear things from the inside. Anything he could imagine ripping apart, he could. Ryuji couldn’t remember what his weaknesses were. A heroes fist to the face apparently.

 

Not that there were any heroes around.

 

Extract stepped further into the dim circle, red casting harsh planes against the sharp edges of his mask. Ryuji could feel the malicious intent against his throat like a vice, the glee of trapping prey temporarily stealing the air from his lungs.

 

“Look what we have here? A lone hero? What are you doing out so late at night in this part of town, hm?”

 

Ryuji nearly froze. “Me? No way man,” he shrugged after a moment, his self preservation instincts had never been great. “Didn’t you hear about that Sakamoto kid on TV? Everyone else has.”

 

“Ohhh,” Extract’s eyes widened, the flash of his teeth widening in the red light. “son of a villain, attacked the great ‘King’ at school, hmm.” He meandered closer, his two cronies snickering and trailing behind. “You are an interesting one aren’t you?”

 

Ryuji took a step back, a bolt of pain working up from his shin to his hip and making him stumble. _Shit_ , he'd forgotten his pain meds too. Not that he'd touched them really, not unless it was an eleven on the scale of one to unbearable. It was still okay, Ryuji could use his quirk long enough to get him a head start and fight through the bone grating sensation, even if the morning after he'd start contemplating just cutting the whole thing off. Again.

 

“Ah, ah! Heard about your accident too, wouldn’t be a good idea to try an’ run would it? I mean, you could sure as hell try but, we aren't the type to let go of a chase so easy. Bet you'd make it, what. Ten? Twenty feet? We could place bets though, if you were particularly feeling adventurous.”

 

Ryuji cursed internally, wondering where exactly the line was drawn between newsworthy drama and personal fucking information. He guessed it didn’t really matter though, the world had already decided he was volatile. A safety issue.

 

“Then again, you haven't been too high on luck nowadays have you. Kid, how’s about you help us out with something. A trade, huh? You give my friends and I here access to the U.A., we pay those heroes of yours a nice visit, and I don’t decide to vent my frustrations on you.” The cronies laughed, red and purple bruises spread in the night air; malice, pleasure, something darker.

 

“Look, if anyone wants to kick Kamoshida’s ass it’s me, but I ain’t no ‘effin villain alright?” Ryuji stepped backwards as much as he could, the trains had stopped for the night already he realized distantly. It was quiet, he thought.

 

“Awww, come on.” Extract’s eyes glinted. “Son of a villain, bad rep, attacked a known hero? Sounds like a villain to me.”

 

Ryuji’s stomach dropped and twisted, he wasn’t. _He wasn’t._ Everyone thought it, they assumed but he was going to prove them wrong, wasn’t he? Cause his strength was in helping people, right? The counselor had said _, she’d said_ -

 

“What did any of ‘em do for you anyways? Kid, we know how it goes, hmm?” One of Extract’s side kicks spoke up, all wide eyes and open palms. Ryuji read nothing but sympathy from the guy, it was confusing. “Some big hotshot hero thinks he knows best. He’s got the best quirk, the strongest skill, from a rich and famous family.” He stepped forwards, palms still outwards, eyes wide and honest; Ryuji couldn’t move. “Decides he’s better than all us little guys. Decides he’s all about the glory and the money and stops caring, leaves bad guys out too long and doesn’t make ‘em pay for anything after the cameras turn off. Sound familiar?”

 

“I…” he couldn’t think, couldn’t move, just wide eyes and palms out. Ryuji wanted to disagree, wanted to, but he couldn’t remember why. A hero had taken everything from him, hadn’t he? No hero ever came knocking on his door, no one ever helped his mother or stopped his dad, the second his old man left the battle he’d just slipped through the cracks and no one thought to check where he might have gone. “....no, it’s….” he frowned, blinked, shook his head, why was everything so foggy?

 

“You agree, don’t you Sakamoto? That’s all anyone sees you as, don’t they? A villain, a bully. And now you can’t even use your quirk. Why not help us get back at the people who put you here? Why not show ‘em what they put you through, finally get them to see you’re not a mat to walk over. Why not get revenge?”

 

 _Yeah_ , some hazy part of his brain said. _Yeah, they don’t deserve nothin’._ A _ll those teachers just walked away, they let it happen. Kamoshida’s walkin’ free, bein’ called a hero, hurting kids just like you. You don’t owe anyone anything._

But, a different voice pleaded, one that remembered cracked walls and broken hinges. One that had shrunk and hid away when he’d destroyed that bathroom, when those boys had looked at him and been afraid. _What would your mom think?_

 

Ryuji clenched his fists, tearing his gaze away from those wide eyes, forcing himself to ignore the waves of understanding overwhelming him like a too strong perfume in a small room. “No,” he grit his teeth. “No, I’m not a villain, I’m not like you.”

 

“Shame.” Extract clicked his tongue, Ryuji suddenly realized how close they’d all gotten; he still couldn’t move his feet. “See, we’re part of a league of sorts that doesn’t take too kindly to being told ‘no’. In fact,” Ryuji could see their thoughts as though they were projected on a screen behind them, he saw their muscles tensing, blood splattering. “you could say it would make them very, _very_ angry.”

 

Extract’s feral grin was wide even under the corners of his mask as he reached towards him, hands crackling with the force of his quirk, every intention screaming violence and tearing and collapsed parking complexes.

 

Suddenly, a familiar mop of hair appeared, haloed in red, literally popping out of thin air in front of Ryuji. Like a guardian angel, or a literal demon. Ryuji felt nothing but unyielding awe, either way, even beyond the faint hint of familiarity. 

 

“Now now boys, let’s all play nice,” Akira smiled, pulling his red gloves tightly against his fingers. _How the h_ ell _-_

Extract growled, surprise spinning his thoughts away from Ryuji for a moment. “Who the hell are you?”

 

Akira wore a white mask that covered his features, but Ryuji spotted the exact moment his eyes flashed bright gold and then blood red, and the darkness creeped inwards on them. “Me? Oh, I'm no one really." He smiled, all teeth and danger. "I’m just the one who’s going to teach you some manners.”

 

 

Ryuji processed three things almost instantaneously, noting the absolute raw strength of the villain in front of him, and the fact Akira was a high school student barely half a year into hero training.

 

One, this was very, _very_ bad.

 

Two, it was late at night, on a Saturday in the middle of the train tracks outside of a station. No help was coming for them, Akira likely was the only one around for blocks, or at least, the only one who'd help.

 

Three, despite all of the chaotic energy burning a hole straight through Ryuji’s center, all of the vile intent to hurt and break and maim, Ryuji couldn’t find the familiar icy slide of fear on his spine. Extract charged forwards, his cronies following suit, and Akira wouldn’t move.

 

Ryuji was not a hero, he knew. Maybe he’d thought, for a moment, like a pipe dream a kid drew in crayon and stuck to the fridge like it was the Mona Lisa itself, that he could be. Maybe he’d convinced himself that practice and believing enough would change his coding, but he wasn’t a hero. Ryuji was broken and pathetic and he’d never be anything more than the mountain of regrets stacked too tall to measure against his shoulders. His quirk had been stolen, his future stolen, his bright good thing dimmed. By all accounts, Ryuji had nothing left to lose.

 

Across the gap, the thick dark of the creeping nighttime, Akira’s eyes flashed gold and slid over to meet his.

 

“I was hoping I'd run into you again. Sorry it isn't under better circumstances." Akira’s voice was bright somehow, confident in spite of everything barrelling towards them. "Just one question, Ryuji, you trust me?” 

 

A fourth realization sparked in his veins even before Akira stepped back into the darkness, even before he drew in the sudden wave of gratitude and glittering shocks of awe he definitely did not deserve, even before Extract’s too blue eyes widened in surprise.  He hadn’t hesitated, for all his jaded and jagged edges, he’d doled out his trust unblinkingly.

 

Akira smiled, eyes gold and impossibly confident, as Ryuji’s chest swelled with an unnamable emotion.

 

A shadow fell across him, and a confidence he didn’t know he possessed shot fireworks straight to his bones. The ache, constant and pressing, dulled to a hum. His quirk funneled, pushing into his toes, into the earth and outwards. The world slowed and expanded with a puff of breath.

 

A wire pulled him forwards, his legs carrying him of their own accord, Akira had vanished somewhere into the darkness but it was okay. Ryuji had this, somehow, he had this.

 

Ryuji slammed his bad leg into the ground, every bit of him a conduit, every part of him wired with one goal. The lightning’s crack against the earth was enough to turn night into day.

 

 

 

 

The fight was shorter than it had any right to be, Ryuji’s lightning was stronger than it had ever been and focused in a single bolt that knocked Extract out cold. Akira appeared moments later, dragging shadows with him until the red light had all but faded. Ryuji wasn’t sure where the first year had learned gymnastics like that, or what he’d done that made the two back up villains run screaming into the darkness, but some things were probably left unsaid. Akira was as untouchable as always, and as confusing as ever. 

 

“You alright?” Ryuji panted, hands on his knees and gulping down air like he’d been suffocating. His leg throbbed, sweat built up on his forehead as he fought back the tides of absolute agony that pulled at his tired bones.

 

Akira stood beside him, wiping off his glasses with his undershirt. Like he hadn’t just swooped in out of nowhere to fight an actual known villain in the dead of night. Like he hadn’t just kicked said villains ass in the dead of night.

 

“I should be asking you that.”

 

Ryuji huffed, standing straight after a few more moments. “Nah, I’m good. Just a little out of practice.” He paused, staring at the deep scour against the earth he’d made, the smell of ozone still permeating the air, the sprawled figure of a supposedly intimidating bad guy just a little farther. “We should uh, probably get the hell out of here though, right?”

 

Akira laughed. “Probably.” Neither of them moved.

 

Ryuji wiped his forehead, “the hell was all of that, man?”

 

It hadn’t felt like him, for a moment. Not the surge of strength running through him, the thrum of assured and measured steps, not the sizzle like pop fizz bursting between his ribs. They’d just taken down a professional villain. Them, two high school kids. A burnout delinquent nobody and some weird ass wanna be hero had taken down a professional. The thrum of something else tapping across his nerves was probably just the residual side effect of being a god damned badass, but he felt off somehow.

 

Like he was still running, like the other foot leaping forwards had yet to touch down. Like he was flying, all over again.

 

He turned to the boy next to him, catching his steady gaze. _Brown_ , he thought distantly. _Huh._

 

Akira smiled, softer now, the glittery skittering feeling ran across Ryuji’s lungs. “Hey, where the hell did you come from anyway? How’d you know I was out here?”

 

The smile turned sharper, Akira’s red gloved hand grasped his, lightly. “Questions, questions. Come on, I know a place. And maybe I'll have a few answers.”

 

 

 

 

It was after midnight when Akira pulled him into some sort of coffee shop. By all accounts, the place should have been long passed closed, the sign said as much. A glint of keys later and the door was unlocked before Ryuji could so much as ask. The place was. Nice. Calming, somehow. Ryuji wondered distantly if he should be more alarmed, but then, he’d already decided to trust Akira for some unexplained reason. The night was already beyond messed up, somewhere along the line he’d given up trying to make sense of anything.

 

Akira bustled over behind the counter, immediately rifling through cupboards and filling a kettle with water. Ryuji blinked, dazed and out of sorts. “Coffee?” Akira called, motioning to the pot and an arrangement of flavours beside him.

 

“Uh,” he shook his head, moving to sit on a stool after a long moment. “No thanks dude, too bitter for me. Do you have any hot cocoa?”

 

Akira quirked his head. “Huh.”

 

“What?”

 

A shrug. “Tough guy like you prefers sweets. It’s cute.”

 

Ryuji adamantly did not blush, he didn’t sputter either. Akira’s laugh was light and airy as he moved about the kitchen.

 

They didn’t talk for a moment, Ryuji listened to the sounds of the water bubbling, the faint click of the stove top turning off. He glanced up again as Akira sat down beside him, a mug of cocoa shuffled across the counter.

 

“Thanks.” A warm pop of fondness tickled him, he could feel his ears turn pink. “So, uh. Back there. I… well, I’m sure you’ve heard by now, all the rumours and shit. My quirk doesn’t- it’s not supposed to work, anymore.” He scratched his neck. “Last time I tried it sort of uh, destroyed a bathroom. I got no control over it, I guess.” Ryuji slumped, fingers twitching against the warm mug in front of him. "I don't know what just happened but I'm. I'm not supposed to be able to do any of it, not anymore anyway." 

 

Akira sipped his drink, and said nothing. Ryuji felt his gaze like a weighted blanket, he sighed and whistled low for a second, leaning further forwards on the counter. He felt impossibly tired now without all the adrenaline, like there wasn't a point to keeping up a front anymore. Akira didn't seem to be buying any of his shtick anyways. 

 

“I don’t know how, but I know you did.... Something. I’ve- I’ve never felt that strong in my life! 'N I know I’m a moron and all but it doesn’t take much to know you bein’ there changed things. Made me…. Not eff’ed to hell.” He blew lightly across the top of his drink, watching the ripples and mulling through his thoughts carefully. Well, as carefully as he was able to, anyways. “You’re one terrifying sonnuva bitch, you know that?”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Akira winked. Friggin, _winked_. _Ugh._

 

“Whatever man. What the hell were you doing out there at night anyway? How’d you know I was- I- I mean, thanks. Really, man. You saved my ass. ” Akira’s gaze shifted off of his, thankfully. His nonchalant, easy grin fading for a moment. A breeze hit Ryuji, like a knock against his temples, before the typical nothing that surrounded Akira returned. It was enough though.

 

Akira was angry, maybe. A cold biting anger but it was wrapped in something afraid, vulnerable. Not laced with fear for himself but for…. Him. Akira had been afraid for Ryuji. “Dude, did you… were you followin’ me?” Ryuji breathed, eyes wide.

 

Akira winced. His knuckles whitened against his mug. “I was… getting food with my friend, he lives nearby at the art school, I didn’t realize how late it was. But, my quirk… walking at night isn’t a problem.” He shrugged, looking up, finally, over his glasses. He looked, apologetic almost. Ryuji frowned, not feeling guilt permeating his gut in roiling waves like he should.

 

“I heard the big one say your name, that you’d been hanging out nearby and-” Akira cut himself off, strangely seeming to pale at his own words. He stared down at his mug again, biting his lip.

 

“And what, man?” Akira shook his head, Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Come on, you can’t just-”

 

“They wanted to recruit you. But the second one, the sidekick, he was going to make you. He was going to... You wouldn't have had a choice.” Akira placed the mug down a little too aggressively, and a sharp bolt jammed with a terrible cocktail of too many emotions stabbed right through Ryuji’s center. Half of them were maybe his own, surprise, horror, anger, but there was indignation, too. Something… protective, almost. Concerned. Ryuji knew how the world saw him, he knew they whispered. The boy in the bathroom had even said it, hadn’t he?

 

_‘Probably going to end up a villain at some point, but I mean. I wouldn’t say no to a chance to kick his scrawny ass.’_

 

“You mean he…” Ryuji trailed off, remembering the wide eyes, the upturned palms, his strange compulsion to listen. The way he’d been so sure the guy was telling the truth, the way he somehow knew everything Ryuji was worrying about.

 

“Shit. I…. Shit! Ho-how… I mean, Extract’s a real _actual_ villain, you know? I ain’t even important… He knew who I was though, who my dad was I mean.” Ryuji let out a groan, but it caught in his throat somewhere, warping into something high pitched and whining. “What the hell, what the hell, man? Is this for real? Why _me_?”

 

He realized he was panicking somewhere back in his brain, that he was holding his drink too tightly. His mind was warping around Akira’s calm words, though. Around the indignation he’d felt, hot like a burning ember.

 

“You won the sports festival,” Akira all but whispered. “Everyone was talking about you.”

 

Ryuji paled further, realizing the whispers had to have traveled beyond just brick walls. Realizing the stares on the train weren’t just from U.A. students. Realizing why his mother shrunk her shoulders farther inwards after every shift. “Shit,” he was hyperventilating, probably. “Shit, I didn’t. So everyone just, they think I.. I didn’t!” His thoughts swam outwards, blurry and too big to handle; crushing. “Dammit, Kamoshida, he told everyone that I- that my dad… I’m not an ‘effin villain!” His breathing was hitching now, his shoulders trembling, everything felt slightly too far away somehow. Unreal.

 

The mug shattered against his fingers, jolting him so badly he almost fell from his seat. Akira swooped in, grabbing his injured hand gently, like he were holding an injured bird.

 

“I believe you,” Akira’s other hand fell on his shoulder, holding him against the counter. “Calm down, Ryuji.” From anyone else the words would have been condescending, but Akira’s voice was unwavering, a rock amidst a storm. His warm eyes filling Ryuji’s vision as Akira turned Ryuji towards him.

 

“I didn’t attack him. K-Kamoshida, I mean. Not the way he's sayin' anyway.” Ryuji gasped out, it seemed so vitally important then, that Akira knew. That Akira understood. “He told everyone, about… my dad. An- and there was more, you know? Bruises and. He said it was practice, but it wasn’t!  He was abusin’ people, me an’ that Mishima kid and. He was lying, all of it. He doesn’t even help anyone it’s all- it’s all so ‘effed up an-and I-”

 

“I believe you,” Akira repeated. His hands were steady against Ryuji’s shoulder, his gaze never faltering. Like he was an anchor, and Ryuji was floating far off the mark. “I'm sorry, Ryuji. I can't imagine how you must feel. You didn’t deserve that, none of it. But _I believe you_.”

 

He felt it, then. A balm in scorching heat, a warm blanket on a chilly day. Compassion was there, layered around faith, stunning and overwhelming. Akira’s naked honesty brought tears to his eyes, air to his faltering lungs. All this time, all these weeks he hadn't realized he'd needed this. He'd been reaching across hallways and classrooms and watching doors slam and olive branches snapping and he hadn't _realized_. Akira's hand pressed against his, the other rubbing slow small circles into his spine and Ryuji breathed, and it broke in three places before choking off entirely. 

 

"Why?" He asked, to no one. To everyone. He regretted saying it as soon as it left his lips. 

 

They'd only just met, really. Ryuji knew this was asking a lot but he was lost in an ocean, he needed a lighthouse. A boat, anything. He hoped Akira would stay, though. For once, he wanted to believe in something; he hoped he could believe in Akira. 

 

"Because you need someone to," Akira whispered back. 

 

Ryuji fell against Akira, then, shaking, and kept falling.

 


	4. You can call me a thief because I'm here to steal your heart also I'm literally on the run please help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man these chapter titles keep getting longer huh. Apologize for how lame this one was, not feeling as punny today I guess. Warning for some implied parental abuse? It's basically one sentence near the end but in case you want to avoid it, starts with And suddenly, and ends with 'isn't that nice, ryu?'

 

Akira wasn’t a regular high school student, that much was obvious. He’d moved from a small town, hours away by plane, in the middle of his last year of junior high under 'mysterious circumstances'. He barely spoke unless spoken to, wore glasses with no prescription, probably to hide the way his eyes flickered gold to brown and back again. He never took off those damned red gloves. Most of these were facts Ryuji knew just from existing in the same school as him, and because U.A.'s gossip leaked faster than a broken faucet. The faculty was just as bad. 

 

Akira was also the leader of a delinquent group, apparently. Ryuji, and the school faculty, definitely hadn't known that. 

 

“We’re unofficial anti-heroes,” he said. “Technically.” He shrugged. As if it was casual. Oh yeah, I like chocolate cake, cats, and oh, running around at night semi-illegally busting crime. You know, normal things. 

 

There were others, too. A boy with a cat-like appearance who apparently had healing abilities- also immediately decided to start insulting Ryuji ten seconds after introduction, so, they were clearly hitting things off great. A girl with round glasses and a shock of red hair who’d giggled like she knew a joke no one else did at Ryuji’s ‘yo’, and insisted on using his first name immediately like they were old friends. Also, Ann, surprisingly enough. And the student president, also surprising.

 

Another boy with blue hair and long eyelashes had swooped low with an overly sincere apology once he’d heard of Ryuji’s situation. Ryuji had squeaked in response that it was _‘chill dude, whatever’_ , but he’d insisted on holding a banquet of some kind to make up for the ‘terrible tragedy’ Ryuji had endured. Akira gave him a happy shrug as if to say, 'he's just like this, go with it'. 

 

He’d laughed to himself a little, wondering which part Yusuke was referring to, then squirmed uncomfortably and tried to downplay things to the best of his ability.

 

They’d all broadcasted different flavours of sympathy and anger on his behalf. It was… too nice. Far too nice. He wanted to keep up the persona he’d constructed, the bad boy that didn’t give two shits about anyone or what you thought of him, just to be safe. Just in case they were somehow going to sell him out to Kamoshida and he'd for real get kicked out this time. But something about their furrowed brows made it difficult. Something about the way Akira kept his hand on Ryuji’s shoulders and kept smiling at him kept him from building up his walls too high. Hell, Yusuke kept giving him wide eyed serious stares and talking in a low soft voice like he was speaking to a scared kitten, it was hard to treat that as anything other than completely genuine and completely eff'in weird. Also, charming, oddly. 

 

“We’d like you to join us,” Makoto said, primly after introductions were all said and done. Ryuji’d sort of expected her to be angry with him, since they hadn’t talked since the sports festival. Actually, none of them had. He'd been busy with the internship for the first while, and then the whole broken leg thing, and then... _Shiho_... She seemed only sad in some sheltered way, though. It unsettled him.

 

“Join...you?”

 

They were standing in a hallway above a mall, people shuffled past in business suits holding briefcases. Outside, rain pattered against the glass and made rivulets down the sides of buildings, footsteps splashed gently nearby as crowds bustled through. It seemed like too much of a juxtaposition, all this ease and normality encasing something so life-alteringly wild and unpredictable. Things were progressing too quickly in Ryuji’s mind. He’d been a nobody a few days ago, a delinquent the world was better off forgetting. Everyone had thought he was going to follow in his father’s footsteps, they’d been waiting for it. Suddenly now, he was surrounded by so many people, so many honest heroes.

 

And they wanted him to join them. He grinned. “Man, a chance to get back at all the shitty adults who think they can just push kids around? I mean, hell yeah I’ll help. But, you guys’ve heard all the stuff floating around about me, right?”

 

Futaba grinned at him, “My dear Sakamoto, I’ve heard all the stuff. Always.”

 

Ryuji couldn’t help but wince. _Oh,_ so they did know. Didn’t explain shit about why they were so eager to have his reputation looming over them, though. Or why no one had brought it up. Maybe Ann told them. He could only hope she'd been nice about it at least.

 

“You said it wasn’t true,” Akira said, like it was obvious. Ryuji was convinced Akira wasn’t from this planet let alone this city.

 

“Well, yeah. I mean. It’s not, it’s a bunch of bullshit, but-”

 

Futaba kicked his shin lightly, “that’s enough of a yes for me!”

 

Ryuji didn’t- these people were good kids. Makoto was the student council president. He didn’t know much about Yusuke or Futaba, and Morgana kind of seemed like an asshole, actually, but he knew Ann had famous support focused parents and that she’d been on the scouting lists since she was eight, and Makoto’s sister was the number two ranked hero. This, none of this made a lick of sense.

 

“The hell…?” He rubbed a hand through his short hair, surprised by the wave of conflicted sympathy that poured at him from all angles. These kids just, didn't ever turn it off did they?

 

“It’d make more sense if we’d all been out on patrol, probably,” Ann hummed thoughtfully, not that her words meant anything to Ryuji and his quiet befuddlement. “It’s like this though, we’ve all seen the way the heroes in this city get away with everything, right? And, well, it was Akira’s idea, he sort of has a way with charming people, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

 

Akira ducked his head with a small grin. _Yeah,_ Ryuji thought, _I noticed._

 

“Heroes aren’t supposed to sit around and watch things happen around them. They’re not supposed to wait for the cameras to start rolling before they care. It’s disgusting.” Ann’s fists were clenched tightly by the end of her speech, Ryuji was stunned by the fuming red around her, licks of fire drawn up high to the sky light. He knew Ann had gotten the shitty end of the stick, assumptions and all just like Ryuji. Perk of having a skin contact based truth telling quirk, people assumed things. That she’d be great as an ‘undercover’ agent for one. That she’d have a hard time keeping her hands to herself, for another.

 

Ryuji hadn’t realized she’d seen more than she’d let on, though. He kind of felt like hiding under a rock, or maybe breaking something.

 

“We don’t want to ignore the small injustices the way everyone else seems to,” Makoto added, gently squeezing Ann’s arm. “Being with this team showed me that if we can do something, we should. That justice has to sometimes make itself happen.”

 

“People are far too unkind,” Yusuke piped in, sad in the way only his eyes showed. “We wish to preserve the good parts for as long as we are able.”

 

“We want to fight back,” Futaba grinned. “Show ‘em we aren’t afraid.”

 

Ryuji didn’t know what to think, his chest tightened painfully. Akira’s hand was on the small of his back again, Ryuji kicked the floor with his toe and shoved his hands in his pockets.

 

“I don’t want anyone gettin’ hurt, not when I coulda done somethin’,” he offered after a moment. The tension in the room broke with a startling wave of pride, he blinked up at everyone.

 

“We really should come up with cue cards,” Morgana grumbled. “These speeches keep getting longer and longer. It was easier when I could just go 'hey, follow me!' and you'd all just do it.”

 

Ann pouted at the cat boy. “That’s Morgana speak for ‘welcome to the team’ Ryuji.”

 

Makoto giggled, Yusuke dropped his hands from their crossed position against his chest, Akira drew small circles against Ryuji’s spine.

 

"That easy?" Ryuji blinked, he'd half been expecting hazing, or a super secret initiation with candles and scary music. 

 

“That easy! Now that the boring stuff’s out of the way, let’s show him where the magic happens.” Futaba grabbed Ryuji’s hand suddenly, and they were bustling down to the trains before Ryuji could process that he hadn’t actually said yes at all.

 

He knew he would have though, anyways.

 

 

 

 

The ‘magic’ room turned out to be the cafe Akira had brought him to earlier, but instead of the nice, comfy coffee house, they corralled him into an attic. “My bedroom,” Akira shrugged, Morgana hopped towards the bed and curled up primly, like he owned the place as well. Ryuji didn’t want to ask about the way Akira immediately shifted to give him space.

 

“I would have taken us to the real exciting place, which is my room, but Akira said its ‘unhabitable’ and ‘full of pop cans’. Whatever that means.” Futaba was definitely pouting, but affection seemed to roll from her shoulders with a confidence Ryuji found himself smiling at. Akira and Futaba looked nothing alike, but he could almost swear they were siblings.

 

Everyone seemed to have a particular spot, Ryuji noticed. They each pulled out chairs from behind the rickety shelving unit in near synchronization, at the same time that Ann yawned and stretched out on the couch and Futaba sprung up on the bed beside Morgana. The latter of course meowled unhappily but made no attempt to move. There was something so familiar about all of this, like he’d stepped into a room with a sitcom family, or a cog filled machine and everything just. Fit. He felt like scuffing his toe against the ground, like pacing, like running away. Not that he could do that anymore. Not that he even really wanted to.

 

 

 

 

They’d all tried their best so far to include him in everything, to care. He wasn’t sure how much of it was pity, it didn’t feel like pity but he didn’t see a way all of these genuine good kids would be able to stand being around him. Especially Ann and Makoto, with their famous family members and lofty goals and all. Especially since they knew everything about what had happened. Especially since Shiho had- well.

 

There’d been conversations about that, too.

 

Ann’s words had rung too closely with retribution, echoed just as firmly with guilt. She’d brought him out to the diner, shortly after Akira had explained everything to the whole group. Or at least, more or less explained, the typical sort of not-explanation Ryuji was realizing Akira was infamous for. A lot of vague statements and too much blunt casual-ness. Whatever, it worked.

 

Ann had turned her stern eyes on him after class, arms crossed and hip out just like before. This time she’d said very little other than a quiet “you’re buying”, before he found himself tucked in the back corner of a diner with a steaming plate of food he honestly wasn’t even hungry for. But Ann had bit her lip and slid her gloves off and Ryuji felt her guilt before she so much as opened her mouth to speak.

 

“I shouldn’t have assumed anything,” she’d told him with watering eyes. “You were always honest before, you tried so hard. I should have known.”

 

He’d smiled as gently as he could back and assured her that she couldn’t have, that he didn’t blame her. “Everyone thought I was gunna be a villain,” he ducked his head. “You weren’t the only one that wasn’t sure if they were right. Besides, I let you down too, huh?”

 

She furrowed her brows at him, “Sakamoto Ryuji, I don’t think you’ve ever let anyone down in your entire life.” She reached forward to push his short, messy bangs off of his forehead. “There was nothing you could have done. If I’m not allowed to blame myself for not being there for you, you’re not allowed to blame yourself for not being everywhere all the time.”

 

He hadn’t thought that was fair, considering everything.

 

“But Shiho,” he started, Ann shushed him, eyes twinkling just on the side of too bright. Salt and sorrow permeated the air, a candle wick in the quiet of the diner.

 

“I should have done more about Shiho, too. I…. I convinced myself I was helping. By letting people believe things. He was hurting her, and all I had to put up with was being thinking I was ‘easy’. I’m her... best friend, she's my everything… if I didn’t realize what was going on, how could you have?”

 

Ryuji noticed her pause, noticed the split moment rush of flower petals and adoration before it was lost in the raging storm of Ann’s guilt and disgust.

 

Ryuji reached across and tangled their fingers together, thinking loudly as he could about juice boxes, packed lunches and sticky pinky promises. “Ah, come on. I think Shiho appreciates you just bein’ there. I think she was probably grateful.” The words weren't enough to paint the picture of the range of emotions he knew sang sonnets against Shiho’s fragile birdcage of a heart, but he settled on them anyways. “To have a friend like you? Who wouldn’t be.”

 

 

 

Makoto, student president herself, had apologized to him, even. Insisting that she’d gotten so caught up in her duties that she’d forgotten, that she’d seen a chasm between herself and her peers and hadn’t tried to understand them. the teachers hadn't helped, corralling her into doing what they wanted, to what they said her sister would want. Ryuji felt bad for her instantly, that kind of stress wasn't right. Wasn't fair. 

 

“I told people to avoid being seen with you,” she confessed, shame colouring every part of her, seeping behind Ryuji’s eyes and back farther. “I should have tried to help you, but I turned away.”

 

Ryuji had just kicked the floor in embarrassment, hooked his thumbs into his pockets, and said she was helping plenty now and what was done was done anyhow. She seemed, not quite pleased with his words, a flash of something wider than pity spilling across her small smile. He chose not to read into it too much, Makoto was a smart, beautiful girl who had the whole world in her terrifying fist. He was just a single bullet in the big picture.

 

He remembered her panic at the festival, though, and decided that he should have tried to help her too.

 

Maybe he could start now.

 

"Friends forgive each other, right?" He offered. After a long moment, her shaky smile turned into something hopeful, and he counted that as progress.

 

 

 

 

Ryuji understood where the need to apologize came from but, as Ann had told him, other people were still suffering within the schools walls, under Kamoshida. Ryuji was but one disappointing tale among a long list, he’d just happened to have the limelight trained on him far too long. Kamoshida had all but become his title, sitting upon an untouchable throne, casting pain downwards like it was some kind of blessing. It had to change, and fast.

 

“The first goal of this Phantom Thieves meeting is gaining intel,” Morgana had announced. “Mainly of course, on Kamoshida.”

 

Ann placed her hand on Ryuji’s arm, ungloved. They wanted honesty, then. Ryuji didn’t mind. He felt Ann's encouragement, and figured her quirk functioned as a way to make words less hard sometimes, he appreciated it. 

 

“It’s not just me, yanno? I think he’s been doin’ this a long time,” Ryuji confessed. “The asshole just takes new kids and breaks them for kicks, so no one can get strong enough to threaten his ranking on the popularity scales.”

 

“We’ll make him pay,” Akira said. The others voiced their agreement with equal ferocity. “He won’t be the King for long.”

 

Ryuji could only blink in the face of it all. Futaba giggled, “What’s wrong? Thought you’d be over the moon to hear we’re on your side.”

 

Ryuji opened his mouth, closed it. Floundered. Akira’s gloved hand slid across his shoulder, once again, grounding him in the moment, forcing sincerity and compassion in droves through the room. “I didn’t. No one’s… I didn’t think anyone would care. He’s a hero ain’t he?”

 

Ann met his eyes with a careful reassurance. “Honestly, Ryuji. We all know that doesn’t mean much.”

 

“But there’s nothin’... we can’t do anything about it! Right?”

 

Akira squeezed his shoulder lightly. Morgana spoke up, acting indifferent, like Ryuji was a mere annoyance, but Ryuji felt the sympathy buried just underneath as if it were as bright as a neon sign. “Tch. If you’re with us? We thrive on impossibilities.”

 

And for once, for all the years Ryuji had spent believing nothing would change, that heroes were heroes and no one would ever see beyond that… He looked across the crowded cafe attic, on this dreary Sunday afternoon, at all the firey expressions, the clenched fists and the determination bubbling so wide in his heart it felt like it lifted him straight from his feet.

 

All of their mismatched quirks and quilt-patched past lives blended somehow, all their cogs whirring together calmly. For once Ryuji saw a space for him, he thought maybe, maybe he fit in here, too.

 

 

 

“Is it true?” Yusuke asked, later, when they’d all exhausted their emotions and Futaba had made fun of them each several times. The rest of the group had headed down to the cafe, or to grab groceries in celebration of their new team member. ‘Lots of meats and ramen!’ Makoto had smiled, and man, he had been too flustered to think about just exactly where she’d learned that was his favorite dish. Everyone on the team was so damn… _pretty._ It was, a lot to take in.

 

Ryuji had elected to hang out with the blue haired kid. Partly because the idea of walking down another flight of stairs only to walk back up made him preemptively break into sweat with phantom pain. Partly because, after everyone's generosity, he felt obliged to get to know each of them on their own terms. Plus, Yusuke was… nice. In an odd way. Ryuji felt a thrum of some untouchable connection between them, for whatever reason. 

 

“Is what true?” Ryuji lolled his head towards the artist, catching his severe stare and sitting up.

 

“Your father,” Yusuke started, and Ryuji had to dig his fingernails into the couch beneath him to will himself to see the echoed pain etched on Yusuke’s heart. To see beyond the words that were so often thrown his way and believe this was leading somewhere different. 

 

“What part? That he eff’ed off somewhere? That he’s a washed up has been now? Couldn’t tell ya, can’t say I kept up with his shit, yanno.”

 

Yusuke pressed hi lips together, reading something in Ryuji’s expression that made a steel slide behind his resolve. “The part where he harmed you.”

 

“Oh,” Ryuji rubbed a hand across his neck, laughing weakly. He'd. Really hoped this was going somewhere different. “I was hopin’ you hadn’t heard that part to be honest.”

 

“Your father is Pointbreak, correct?”

 

_With his ability to focus his strength into his fists, he could break through steel doors!_

 

Ryuji hadn’t heard that name in a long, long time. “Yeah, that’s the bastard alright.”

 

“It isn’t right, what happened.” Yusuke’s tone shifted, a palpable rage tinting Ryuji’s sight hazy for a moment. “Either of us. My would-be father was exposed as a fraud. Yours still revels in good fortune despite all the suffering he has caused.”

 

Ryuji shrugged. “Well, not like many people believed me or my mom. Said he’d been ‘born to be a hero’ at first, yanno? Cool quirk an’ all, not hard to see why people didn’t go listenin’ to some snot nosed kid.” Not like anyone had even tried to listen. 

 

“No,” Yusuke snapped, “If anyone was born to be a hero it is you, Sakamoto-san. The second someone uses their quirk to hurt they lose all right to such a title.”

 

Ryuji fell silent, stunned, heartstrings pulling a hundred different directions simultaneously. He felt that same buttery sunshine feeling of honesty, compassion and warmth tied and offered with no expectations. His mind reeled back to a counsellors office, to _‘your strength is your bravery, Ryuji.’_ He choked out a quiet thanks.

 

“Or perhaps, Akira, but you are most certainly a golden hearted person. I should like to capture your essence one day in painting.”

 

Moments passed lightning fast around here, Ryuji realized with a laugh. He wiped a tear surreptitiously from his eye. “Yeah man, sure. And yanno, you can just call me Ryuji, if you want.”

 

 Yusuke smiled, “I would be honoured.”

 

 

 

 

They needed time to come up with a plan, at least, Futaba had said she’d have one ‘soon’. He wasn’t sure if the redhead had a tech quirk or if she was just terrifying in general, but he was inclined to believe her skills. Not like they had anything to work with at the moment anyways. Kamoshida was untouchable, Ryuji was a stupid delinquent, and Shiho was still unconscious. Unless they could convince Mishima to talk, or one of the other kids who’d been interning with him at different points, they couldn’t pin anything on him.

 

The rest of the Phantom Thieves had exchanged strange glances when Ryuji had said as much. Makoto said something about it _‘being more a matter of timing’_ , which Ryuji didn’t understand, but then again, he didn’t understand a lot of this shit anyways. The general consensus of the meeting was that Ryuji needed more time to heal up from his accident, get some training in, practice with the group. Other than that, Ann had decided they needed more ‘bonding’, and to carry on acting like good students until Futaba could work something out.

 

None of them knew how long that would be, which put a slight damper on things, but then Yusuke had announced from the kitchen that their celebratory dinner was ready to commence, and Ryuji lost track of anything other than how hungry he was for a while.

 

Somewhere between slurping down food, arguing playfully with Morgana, and teasing Makoto, Ryuji found himself laughing. Somewhere after that he realized everything around them was coated in a faint sheen of sunlight, and Ryuji had never seen so much unfiltered yellow in his life.

 

Ryuji wondered if every group of friends was like this, overwhelming and strangely heartwarming.

 

 

 

 

Training started the next day, or so Ryuji had decided. He wasn’t totally sold on the whole idea of vigilante hero-ism, or rather, that he’d be able to help beyond maybe as the distraction, but. Training was something he was used to, something productive he could finally do. 

 

Ryuji hadn’t had so many text messages, ever. Or invites, or friendly smiles in the hallway. He wasn’t used to people asking about him, not caring about the side looks they got in the hallway from being around him. He wanted to make sure he did everything he could to live up to the expectations they seemed to have, he wanted to keep them all smiling.

 

 _God,_ he’d literally just met some of them a few days before, but he _cared_ what they thought of him. Gross. 

 

Almost without thinking, Ryuji had asked Akira if he wouldn’t mind helping him out with some easy stretching, just something to get him back on the training groove. He hadn’t expected the immediate ‘yes’ from the floppy haired boy, or the way Akira had practically ran towards him in the hall the second class ended.

 

Akira was something else entirely all right.

 

 

 

Akira, as it turned out, was more special than Ryuji had thought. His circumstances at home had been shitty, stuff Ryuji couldn’t quite wrap his brain around as something that actually happened. He’d been framed, more or less. Some kind of mix up. A hero had been doing shady things under the table, Akira had stumbled across something he shouldn’t have, people already had thought he was suspicious before so they’d practically clamoured to throw the teen under the bus. Easy enough for officers to believe Akira was the one to blame, after all, who questioned a hero.

 

Easy enough for a boy with a shadow quirk and nothing left to lose to escape.

 

“So you’re…” Ryuji stared at the boy across from him on the grass, watching the way sunlight played against his curly hair, flashes of brown and gold.

 

“A fugitive, I guess.”

 

“For real?” Ryuji breathed, Akira’s shoulders hunched inwards and god it was so familiar, so painfully familiar. He remembered then, Akira’s words between Ryuji’s desperate pleading breaths, alone in the dim of a cafe with the world crashing down around him. Akira was bracing for rejection, probably. Ryuji couldn’t often break through the buzz of nothing that surrounded the dark haired boy, but he didn’t need an empathy quirk to know rejection was probably what he’d been forced to grow accustomed to.

 

“That’s...,” Ryuji’s brain whirled and spun, but he held Akira’s worried gaze. He felt Akira’s apprehension, his sorrow and overwhelming loneliness, not as a palpable sensation but out of understanding. He laughed, more disbelieving than amused, and scrubbed a hand through his messy spikes.

 

“I knew there was somethin’ about you, like. We’re the same that way, huh? World against us and all. Akira, we… bro, I don’t think there’s anyone who could believe you more.”

 

Akira’s smile was so bright, wider than Ryuji’d ever seen. “Yeah, guess we are the same.”

 

He was staying with Sojiro, the legendary Boss himself, a high ranking council member of the U.A., and apparently now a cozy, albeit slightly abrasive barista. He’d been a hero, once. Retired to live a quiet life at the cafe, helping his daughter follow her dreams in the support track, working weekday mornings at the school. Despite the man’s surly attitude and strict demeanor, Akira assured him Boss had more or less saved him. Boss had given him a place to stay out of nothing but the kindness of his heart, the man had argued loudly otherwise, and still would however. He said it was temporary, just until Akira could straighten things out and get back on his feet. That he wouldn’t hesitate to throw Akira out if he started making trouble, Akira thought he just talked big. That being tough made it easier to pretend he wasn't a big softie on the inside.

 

“He doesn’t know,” Akira confessed, twirling a blade of grass around his fingers. “He thinks I’m a delinquent kid who’s parents got sick of dealing with him.”

 

Ryuji hummed. “Sounds a lot like another delinquent kid I know,” he winked.

 

Akira met his eyes, a grateful edge playing in the flash of gold in his eyes. Then he sighed, pushing up his glasses and looking down. “I didn’t get into U.A. because of him.”

 

Ryuji frowned, tearing a handful of grass and piling it beside him. “Of course not, have you seen how badass you are? I’m sure you must’a taken down like, half those robot things all on your own.”

 

Akira gave him a strange look, pressing his mouth in a thin line. He ran a hand across his neck and looked up, Ryuji squirmed anxiously.

 

“My quirk is…. different. “ Akira’s tone was flat, his eyes hidden in the glare of the sun. Ryuji felt vaguely like he were stepping on a newly frozen lake, he cautiously hedged forwards. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious, but quirks could be a touchy subject- you couldn't just _ask_. 

 

“Yeah? I mean, not every day you see someone leaping out of thin air like you do.” Ryuji had never heard Akira talk this much in one sitting, he got the feeling something about this was important. “You can…. You can talk to me about it? If you want, anyway.”

 

“I…” Akira’s brows bunched together, then smoothed out. “It’s. Hard to explain.”

 

“Dude, I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed I’m not too bright by now, take your time. Can’t guarantee I’ll get it but, I’ll listen, dude.” He leaned backwards on the grass, a picture of nonchalance, despite the nervousness nearly clogging his throat.

 

Akira looked sharply at him, displeasure flared off him like a bird taking flight. “Don’t say things like that about yourself.”

 

Ryuji sat up, palms out and held high. “Jeeze, alright. I’m just tellin’ ya how it is, but-”

 

“You’re not stupid, Ryuji.” Akira insisted. “You notice things, more than most people do.”

 

Ryuji had no response for that.

 

Akira deflated, his tense demeanour melting in an instant. “Sorry, it’s just. Sorry.” He sighed. “I should have brought Morgana, he’s much better at explaining this than I am.” Akira seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment.

 

A gloved hand suddenly wrapped around his. “First, I need you to close your eyes and trust me.”

 

There were few people on this earth Ryuji trusted. In fact, only one person up until recently, and it had been harder and harder to look at her most mornings, to stamp down the guilt long enough to say ‘I love you, ma.” But then, he’d already decided to trust Akira back at the train station hadn’t he? Ryuji found himself curling his hand around Akira’s fingers. “Course.”

 

Ryuji closed his eyes.

 

He felt the shadows, a sort of intangible not-touch that still left his arm hairs raising and goosebumps sprinkling down his neck. It was cold, almost, the way they wrapped around him, like ink bleeding into paper. He couldn’t help the gasp that punched through him as the shadows rose above his head but managed to keep his fluttering eyes closed last second. The sounds faded out around them, no breeze or passing cars or faint voices, just murky, nothing.

 

Then, Akira.

 

His voice came through a tunnel, or several meters of water. He wasn’t talking to Ryuji but, thinking around him, pulling him along down a river of one sided conversation.

 

“Relax,” Akira’s smoky voice floated around him. “Just relax.”

 

Ryuji was standing, suddenly. His hand stretching in front of him, but it wasn’t his hand because he hadn’t moved it. “I can see everything you're thinking,” that was his voice, but. It wasn’t. _Akira?_ He thought vaguely, a thin trail of frosty air against the nothing around him.

 

“I’m in control. I could shuffle through all of your memories, every fear you've ever had, all of it's locked up here in front of me. But you know, I'm a thief Ryuji.” Ryuji's leg began to tingle, the way it always did when he felt something particularly strong, right before he launched it outwards and amplified it. "I can make you focus, feel anything, feel confident or scared, it's all in your heart. All there in the shadows." 

_That was you,_ Ryuji gasped in the nothing. _The night, by the trains, you-_

“Don’t you get it? I can control how you feel, how you think. Doesn’t that scare you?” Ryuji had never heard his own voice warble with frustration like this before. It wasn't him, it was Akira and him, it was. Them?

 

_I-no? Akira, it’s okay._

 

“It’s not, why aren’t you listening?”

 

And suddenly, Ryuji was six and he was staring at his bedroom door, imagining it coated with layers of titanium, with steel and big iron bars and padlocks upon padlocks. He was pretending the hinges were diamonds, that they would hold, that he’d be safe, _please he just wanted to be safe_ and-

 

Then he was ten, he was being bundled up in his mom’s warm arms and they were both pretending they weren’t crying. A cooking show played in front of them, a baker rolled dough with long, even strokes, _and that was nice wasn’t it Ryuji?_ The news wasn’t on and his dad hadn’t escaped, again, it was just a cooking pan and chocolate chips and his mom’s arms tight against the rabbit beat of his heart _and wasn’t that nice, Ryu?_

 

Ryuji’s eyes snapped open, blue sky and green grass, and he choked on nothing. His lungs seized up in remembrance of the panic, of knowing someone- Akira, had-

 

“I’m sorry,” Akira’s shoulders were holding him up, his front a comfortable heat against Ryuji’s trembling frame. “I shouldn’t- I... “

 

“What the hell!” Ryuji flailed, shoving himself as far away from his soft, sad eyes and dark hair, and mind hopping, invasive, memory stealing bullshit. “You- you don’t get to just…! That was mine, it was mine! Nobody was s’pposed to-” He was hyperventilating, probably, he felt the distant burning trails of tears on his cheeks, snot clogging his throat, and it a heaviness pressing inwards on him, inescapably and-

 

Regret, shame, warm, burning admiration, it nearly stung him. Nearly burned his skin, like he’d been sitting in the sun too long. He’d maybe expected Akira to be amused, some dark part of him thinking this was the set up to some cruel prank. That Akira had dug around in his thoughts and found his weak point and maybe he’d told everyone, maybe it hadn’t been Kamoshida at all because nobody was supposed to know. His blurry eyes snapped to Akira’s, the other boy hunched over for once, no part of him rolling with the typical cool, collected distance he’d come to know.

 

Akira looked, small.

 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Akira’s face twisted. “I never wanted this, I hate it. I just thought if I... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” His voice wavered, a moment of stillness, both boys frozen across a field, and then Akira’s shoulders shook. Ryuji flinched, something painful filling his throat.

 

The unflappable exchange student who’d been through hell and barely cracked, the boy who always seemed endlessly amused by everything around him, the one with the soft round eyes and quiet smiles, was nearly crying. Because of him.

 

Ryuji stared. “A-akira…”

 

Akira’s lips trembled, then flattened with the weight of his thoughts pressing outwards, he pushed his face into his hands. “I- I’m not good at, controlling it. I’m not in the hero track, Ryuji, because I can’t control it. But I shouldn’t have- it’s not an excuse. I wanted to tell you so you’d know and, you said you wished you didn’t feel and I just. I can’t let myself, if I- I lose myself for one second and. God, I could have hurt you.”

 

 _He’s not in the_ \- there were too many statements to unpack, too many careening thoughts and emotions. Akira rubbed both of his palms against his eyes, pushing his glasses up. “You can leave, if. If you want. I won’t follow you.”

 

“Leave?” Ryuji all but whispered, eyebrows high in shock.

 

Akira looked up, eyes shining, red rimmed and so lost,  looking for all the world like he was waiting for Ryuji to ream him out, to tell him that he was bad and wrong and would never be anything. Ryuji’s heart wrenched in his chest. He awkwardly flung himself forwards, knees bunched uncomfortably under him, face mushed against Akira’s neck, and he squeezed. “How in the hell…?” His own voice warbled, muffled against Akira’s sweaty neck, and they both trembled. “How could you ever think I’d leave?”

 

“But I…”

 

Ryuji grumbled, frustrated with himself, with tears still burning his eyes and his throat. Frustrated with the way his hands shivered in their twisted fists, knotted against Akira’s jacket. Frustrated with the way his leg twinged painfully already, with the shit Akira had been through, the shit he’d been through himself.

 

“I don’t like thinkin’ about it. It’s done, a-and it’s over but it sucked. A lot. I don’t like that- that you dug around in my head and found it, cause I woulda told you on my own. Later. But I don’t- man, how much of a damned hypocrite would I be if I started blamin’ you for not being perfect?”

 

“It’s different,” Akira started, weakly.

 

“How? You- you saw that stuff right? My old man used to break everything, you know? Part of his quirk and all, but I do that too. It scares the shit out of me every time cause I start thinking…. That people are right, you know? That what they say ‘bout me is gunna be true one day even if I fight it.” Ryuji took a shaky breath, pushing his nose against Akira’s neck. “You believed in me, you’re the first person who’s ever believed me, how could I leave you behind?”

 

Akira’s voice nearly shattered, “I’m scared, too.”

 

Ryuji bit his lip, twisting his hands further in Akira’s shirt. “I believe you, you’re a good person, Akira.” he decided, pushing back Akira’s shoulders to look him in the eyes. “I believe you. Doesn't matter if your quirk has weird shadowy side effects you can't control just yet, that doesn't make you who you are, right?”

 

Relief coursed through him, a full on tidal wave from Akira that soaked into his bones and outwards. Akira laughed, the sound ached. “I-.... thank you.” Akira slumped against him, shaking still.

 

“You n’ me, we’re gunna prove everyone wrong, okay?” Ryuji’s hands clenched, something protective and fierce flickering to life in his chest. “We’re gunna be heroes. You n’ me, a-and everyone else, Akira.”

 

Akira shook, a long slow breath against Ryuji’s neck. For a moment, Ryuji could have swore he saw pink, felt fluttering petals in the spaces between his ribs.

 

 

 

Akira explained later, with the blue sky still high above them. A hero from his hometown, just some guy with a lot of money really, had been harassing some poor lady. Akira had just been on the way home, heading towards the bus stop and intending to just curl up with a book and his favorite sweater after a long day of school work. Wrong place right time. Except Akira hadn’t been confident in his abilities back then, had even less experience using people’s shadows and stealing hearts and the guy had tripped.

 

Really, Akira was a hero for even trying to intervene. No one in his town saw it that way, a lot more ‘assault’ and a lot less ‘helping’. Throw in rumors about Akira’s quirk and how he could manipulate anyone, about how he could control anything anyone did, and suddenly Akira was being blamed for a lot more than just one incident.

 

A modern day witch hunt, Makoto had called it. Akira called it bad luck.

 

Shit, Ryuji rubbed a hand through his hair. “That… sucks,” he offered, _lame._ “They had to know you wouldn’t,” he tried again, _better._

 

Akira shook his head, shoulders finally unhitching from around his ears.

 

“Not even your parents?” Another head shake. Ryuji gaped, sure his mom wasn’t currently on Team Ryuji one hundred percent, but that was because it was Ryuji. He was a fuck up so it made sense, but Akira was. Well, Akira. How would anyone think-

 

“I’m going to make you pay for one ramen outing for every time you call yourself that,” Akira huffed, quietly, breaking Ryuji’s train of thought. He realized he’d spoken out loud. Oops.

 

“So then, at the festival,” Ryuji’s brain was stalling, slowly picking up the bread crumbs Akira had lain out for him. “You walked away because... ?”

 

Akira bit his lip.

 

Ryuji thought maybe he understood, that people must have called him a villain in classes, whispered things about him too. It must have been impossibly hard, getting into the U.A. The entrance exam focused on robots, heroics. Akira couldn’t steal the hearts of wires and gears, he could hide and sneak but it must not have been enough.

 

He must have wanted to prove he could be a hero too. So badly it probably ached.

 

“You deserved it,” Akira shrugged, he seemed, tenser somehow.

 

Overwhelming anger sparked in Ryuji’s mind, _no,_ not anger. A brighter, more solid thing, something airy and light, that didn’t stick and pull on his thoughts. “No,” he said firmly, his hand reaching across the distance between them, his fingers circling Akira’s wrist tightly. That spark of protectiveness was an aching thing now, scraping at the insides of his heart with every moment Akira’s mouth stayed carefully downturned just a little at the corners. “You deserve good shit too, alright?”

 

“Ryuji-”

 

He held up a hand. “Lemme finish, okay? Never gunna get this off my chest otherwise.” He huffed a small shaky laugh, gathering his thoughts. “You’ve been through some shit, man. Stuff nobody should have to deal with, and you don’t let it hold you back. I mean, you’re here aren’t you?” He gestured at the school. “You- people are out there right now, believin’ all this, this bullshit about you and you still wanna help them. You are a god damned hero, just like Ann and Makoto and Yusuke, and okay I guess Morgana too, and Futaba an-and Boss too- you’re all god damned heroes as far as I’m concerned, you and all the people that wanna help despite how much shit the worlds thrown at them. Dude…”

 

Ryuji leaned backwards on his free hand, a disbelieving laugh catching and floating around them. “It’s effin’ incredible if you ask me. I spent, so many years bein’ angry over my dad and this Kamoshida bullshit, I think I forgot.” He looked over at Akira, and felt a heat rise up his neck at the open awe on the other boys face.

 

“There’s somethin’ about you Akira, you bring the best outta people. You make me feel…” _like I’m running,_ he thought. _Like I’m leaping, like my feet aren’t touching anything and I can just go forever._

 

“You make me feel free.”

 

Akira stared at him, the heat finally hit his cheeks as Ryuji realized how close they were still sitting, that his fingers were still wrapped around Akira’s wrist. “I, uh-”

 

“You too,” Akira said, strangely breathless. His cheeks were still red, probably from earlier, his eyes wide and brilliant gold. “You make me feel free, too.”

 

Ryuji’s chest filled, balloons and fireworks careening between the spaces of his ribs, rainbows of colour exploding and spilling into his veins. He gasped, gentle and quiet. “Uh,” his mouth moved dumbly on it’s own, his brain still somewhere between Mars and the stars beyond.

 

“Ryuji,” when did Akira’s voice get so husky, so velvety, had it always sent shivers across his spine? “Thank you.”

 

Ryuji blinked, his hand finally unclenching around Akira’s wrist as his thoughts fell back into place. He knew something had happened, just now. Something big, but he was dazed, cotton candy clouds stuffing between his eyes. “‘Course,” he managed. Akira grinned and the cotton candy billowed outwards.

 

Akira stood and brushed grass off his knees, then leaned forward with a red gloved hand outstretched. “Want to get some noodles?”

 

Ryuji grabbed his hand without a moment's hesitation. “Duh.”

 

 

 

It made sense, in a sad sort of way. The fact that Akira could blend into the background so easily, quirk aside. Ryuji watched him side step around groups of whispering teenagers who didn’t so much as twitch from their gossip, “I heard, that kid who went up against Sakamoto? He’s a convict, yeah I heard he was in a motorcycle gang. That he stabbed a guy. I mean, he hangs out with that Sakamoto kid now too. It’s just bad news.”

 

Akira met his eye and waved happily, like he hadn’t heard any of it. Ryuji shrugged his bag higher on his shoulders and ignored the pinpricks of disgust-revulsion-hatred needling his heart.

 

 _Sakamoto’s just bad news._ Akira brushed passed them and the girls didn’t even look up. Like Akira wasn’t there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira's quirk is super vaguely described because it's more based on internal dialogue than anything physical. More or less he can manipulate shadows, including the shadows in people's hearts. Super cheesy, but it means he can see all the bad stuff and make whoever feel whatever he wants them to feel. Like, a more aggressive form of Ryuji's. Sometimes he gets lost in their trains of thought or memories and ends up delving into the real shadowy parts of people's thoughts and yanno, not so good stuff happens. I imagine with the incident he was framed for, he reminded the guy about his worst mistakes and crimes, which made him flip out. As one would I guess. Only works though if the person he's trying to control isn't anticipating him, if they're relaxed basically. 
> 
> Anyways, if anyone is still confused or would like a better explanation, let me know and I can try to add one in a later chapter! Thanks again for all of the support and comments, you guys are really the best. You keep me goin'.


	5. This shore is a bad idea, just wade and sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, cause you know. Water puns. Yikes.   
> Thanks as always for the lovely comments! I know this fic is a lil out there in terms of like, it's entire premise and conception, so it's really heart warming to have people commenting so enthusiastically? This has been a labor of love to kinda push myself to write wilder and longer ideas so, thanks you guys so much!   
> And uh, sorry for this? Poor Ryuji.

 

The Phantom Thieves held their first official planning session with their brand new member on a regular Sunday up in the cafe. They’d been practicing lots, but every day that passed only served to make Ryuji more antsy. Each day was another chance for Kamoshida to hurt someone again.

 

Like that Mishima kid, like _Shiho_. Dammit.

 

They didn’t have much of a target though, Kamoshida was too much to chew even if they all wanted to tear him down. They couldn’t just walk up to him and pick a fight- well at least, they _probably_ shouldn’t. Ryuji was living embodiment of how great of a plan that would be. Bastard was stronger than he looked. It left a sour taste in Ryuji’s mouth to know the man was up to his usual bullshit without consequence, made him anxious to think they were so close to pulling the floor out from under the guy, and yet a thousand miles away all the same. To have a group of so many powerful quirks and all with the same burning frustrations he held made him want to take on the entire world, flip it upside down and make people _see_. 

 

Heroes were just people, and sometimes people freakin' sucked. Ryuji had known for a long time, though, nobody was really willing to look closer than they had to.

 

“Sho,” he started, they were gathered at some kind of buffet this time. Ann’s idea, probably because of all the pastries. They’d apparently come across a large sum of money with their last criminal bust, some guy with a bowl cut who felt awful about what he’d done and decided to ‘donate’ to their cause. Guy had been stalking someone apparently, so Ryuji didn’t feel too bad for him. Or at all, really.

 

“Ew, don’t talk with your mouth full.” Morgana scrunched up his nose in disgust. Ryuji glared, but swallowed.

 

“ _So_ ,” he pointedly huffed cat-boy’s direction. “Why can’t Akira just. Yanno, walk up to Kamoshida and do the whole shadow thing? Get him to confess right in public?”

 

Akira shifted in his seat, Ann stopped mid bite and a palpable spike of green nervousness buzzed loudly across the table from her.

 

“Because,” Morgana gave him a weird look, but he was always giving Ryuji weird looks, stopped fazing him after the first time. “If the victim notices Akira’s gone, or if he missteps, he’ll get shut out immediately. Sort of like the subconscious brain pulling security and sealing the doors, it’s….”

 

“Finnicky,” Akira shrugged.

 

“Kamoshida can’t know what’s going on, or else Akira could get kicked out. Or trapped inside.”

 

“T-trapped?!” Ryuji almost choked.

 

Akira shrugged again. “Hasn’t happened yet.” He had to say, for being their team leader and pillar of support and charm, Akira was terrible at pep talks. Ann looked over uneasily again, and Ryuji could practically read the 'close call' vibrating in her blue eyes. _A close call or two, then. Okay._

Morgana sighed. “It’s dangerous, of course. Especially since Akira’s still...new… to the concept, it's like a muscle he hasn't really been flexing as much as he could have. Room for too many errors. We also thought about sneaking Akira in when Kamoshida was sleeping but, there’s a time limit just like with any quirk. Like the stamina bar in a video game, his quirk just takes a lot very quickly. Kamoshida has to be in a public space for us to get the confession to mean anything, anyways.”

 

_Oh. Duh._

 

Morgana paused, frowning to himself. “That’s all assuming we could even get him off guard enough for Akira to get in. And if Kamoshida isn’t able to sense Akira immediately. If he gets kicked out, he can’t get back in. So, we really only have one chance at this, we gotta be extra sure it’ll work.” Morgana slumped in his seat, like the realization of how desperately out of their depth they all were. That was a lot of ‘ifs’, _shit._

 

Ryuji gulped. “So uh, no chargin’ in then.” Sounded about right honestly. Akira shrugged at him, face as impassive as ever.

 

“It works pretty alright though,” Ann’s forceful positivity broke through. “We’ve gotten a few criminals to confess, obviously. One even walked himself straight to the police office! Plus, for the smaller stuff I have my quirk too!”

 

Everyone nodded, Ryuji was grateful for the brighter less oppressive atmosphere. Better not to think of the overwhelming odds against them, or the whole ‘trapped inside an asshole’s brain’ deal. _Yikes._

 

“It… does require a specific victim though, does it not?” Yusuke added, sounding confused. “Or have we discovered a way around that issue?”

 

Ryuji blinked. “Wait- victim?”

 

The group sighed, Futaba shot Yusuke a biting bolt of frustration and a glare that went unnoticed.

 

“In order for some of the, um, stronger targets, to lower their defenses enough… Well we, we realized that…” Makoto bit her lip, twirling her hair in one finger. “We need a decoy. Basically.”

 

“Someone the target feels is harmless needs to be there,” Morgana crossed his arms. “We found that if the target thinks of the situation as completely in their court, it’s easy for Akira to slip in past their defenses.”

 

So, someone Kamoshida thought he’d already broken needed to be there, when they got close enough. And talk to him for long enough that Akira could take control. Which meant- _Oh_. He wasn’t sure if the sudden panic that wrenched the air straight from his lungs was obvious, he stabbed of the meatballs on his plate and focused on the feeling of the couch under him. He felt their eyes on him like tiny pin pricks of guilt, which was stupid. It made sense, probably. Kamoshida needed to feel like he was still on his throne when they kicked it out from under him, sure. Made sense. If he stabbed his fork a little louder, well, that was probably fine too. 

 

“Of course, all of that relies on whether we can make Kamoshida come out and play,” Futaba tapped her chin thoughtfully. _Or that Kamoshida would even play with his food before he ripped it apart again._ Hadn’t taken too much to get him to throw an entire bookshelf at Ryuji last time.

 

Hadn’t taken much for his leg to break either.

 

“If we practice more, and start finding weaknesses, I’m sure we can figure out how to find Kamoshida’s too. There has to be a weak point in his armour, we just have to poke around a little more,” Makoto smiled tentatively. “We figure out how to make him a little nervous enough he feels like he has to deal with us personally, distract him, and Akira and Ann will make him talk.“

 

Futaba grinned, shark-like. “See? Easy peasy. Yanno, I’m sure Ann could distract him long enough to have Akira slip into the shadows and kick his butt. She’s not absolutely terrible at acting when she wants to.”

 

“Hey!” Ann pouted. Ryuji thought of old school plays and a blond pig tailed face playing tree number 4 in the badly painted background, he hoped she didn't catch his wince. 

 

“You know, come to think of it we probably don’t even need everyone there. Ann and Akira are a pretty scary duo; Futaba can record everything through a phone call, so.” Makoto pretended like she was saying the words casually, her eyes flickered to Ryuji, screaming at him to take the out. Ryuji appreciated the thought, he appreciated that she attempted to shrug off the concept of taking down a high profile nightmare of his past like it would be easy, like he had a choice. He appreciated the belief she clearly held in everyone's strengths; the concept that he could rely on that, that they’d pick up where his glaring weaknesses dropped the ball. It was all…

 

He drew a long breath in, mind speckled with broken memories.

 

Imagining looking Kamoshida in the eye again, seeing his smug smirk and dark hate filled eyes, he felt a cold sweat break out against his neck. _“You’re nothing, Sakamoto. Why don’t I break that other leg of yours, hm?”_ He could practically hear the guy taunting him already, looking down on him writhing on the cold floor. Ryuji didn’t think he was strong enough to go through that again, his quirk only half worked with Akira’s help as it was. He didn’t think he could handle Kamoshida stealing even more from him. The other thought was too nice; imagining his friends handling it, him tucked away safely in his bed somewhere else, far away. Waking up to the news that Kamoshida and Pointbreak and every other terrible nightmare that had ever befallen anyone and claimed to be a hero had finally faced karmatic retribution in the face of Kamoshida’s confession. It was tantalizing, his chest clenched with a desperation and relief, with an instinctual need to remove himself from the unbearable level of danger and harm.

 

 _But yet_ , imagining his friends, brave and selfless, facing down his nightmares without him while he hid... Of Ann standing down her own demons, forcing herself to believe Kamoshida had won, just for a moment being too terrified to think… Of Ann alone, against the guy who’d tried to break her in ways Ryuji couldn’t even imagine, while Ryuji was too afraid to stand alongside her.

 

He curled his fists tightly at his side. Some hero, some friend.  

 

“He would. Have to be there, I mean.” Akira said abruptly, “I need him there.”

 

The group tensed, all shooting Akira various looks of disbelief and nervous flickers towards Ryuji. _God,_ he felt their support so closely, abruptly. Like armour against his chest, like sunlight breaking through the clouds just overtop of his head. He’d never known anyone who’d give up so much for him, who’d look at him like they saw him and they cared. He felt something else alongside it too, something quieter and tentative and wrapped in muted shades like it had spent too long tucked away behind bookshelves and closet doors. Something painfully tied to his own half lumping heart, with all it's half skips and stumbles. A little bit like loneliness and a lot like bravery.

 

 _“Do you trust me?”_ He remembered Akira asking, hand outstretched and eyes wide like he thought, for a second, Ryuji might say anything other than ‘absolutely’. Akira who’d heard his story and never once doubted anything, Akira who waltzed into his life and changed absolutely everything in a second.

 

He laughed.

 

“If you need me man, I’ll be right beside ya.” He caught Akira’s eyes, felt his warm pride-confidence and smiled back, wide and untouchable. “Dunno how much I’ll be able to help with though,” he tapped his bad leg against the wooden floorboards, outstretched in front of him. “I can walk an’ all, but my quirks been pretty much shot to hell since. Hard to amplify shit through a broken circuit, yanno?”

 

Ann’s hand in his squeezed, Akira’s gaze sharpened.

 

“You’re not broken,” Yusuke’s typically calm voice was icy. “Do not talk about yourself like that. We are a team, and if I’m not mistaken, teammates work with each others strengths and weaknesses to bring out the best.” Ryuji blinked at Yusuke’s tightly drawn brows and pursed lips, caught the confusing mass of frustration and admiration in buffets.

 

“We can’t do this without you,” Makoto added. “You’re stronger than you think, Ryuji.”

 

“Well, we _could_ ,” Morgana scoffed, and held his paws up in defense at the sharp jab Futaba sent his way. “But it would be easier with your help. And... “ Morgana’s voice trailed off grudgingly. “I think you could use some hope too. Just as much as anyone else.”

 

Ryuji’s heart ducked and rolled.

 

 _Maybe this is what real heroes are for,_ he thought, _making the impossible possible._ He grinned at the wave of confidence, the courage and strength around him. Maybe he’d been crawling around in doubt too long and this was sunlight breaking through the storm clouds, maybe he’d just finally looked up and stopped thinking only about his own broken doors for once. But this, the ragtag group of kids who wanted the world to be a better place for everyone, who were standing up against adults unflinchingly because someone had to?

 

For a moment, he forgot about his leg, about his past; for a moment he was invincible.

 

 _This was his good thing_ , he smiled.

 

“Let’s kick some ass.”

 

 

 

 

The first rat that Futaba managed to squeeze out of hiding was a newly minted hero, one that Ryuji vaguely remembered from junior high. He’d been a few grades above, but he’d developed a reputation as a blackmailer early on. He got younger kids to give him their favorite treats from their lunches, smart ones to do his homework, everything from basically waiting on him hand and foot. Didn’t surprise Ryuji much to find out he’d been doing the same thing all throughout hero training.

 

“I remember this kid,” Ann looked disgusted as they shuffled through the document Futaba had whipped up. The information she’d found had hints that he’d been working with a small time villain group to make himself appear more heroic- letting them steal items from jewellery shops and the like during their ‘fights’, only capturing the ones that had double crossed the villains leader.

 

“He wanted me to be his 'girlfriend' once,” Ann continued. “I think I was in fifth year, and he was in seventh. I don’t think anyone told him what my quirk was.”

 

“Ew,” Ryuji wrinkled his nose. He laughed though when Ann smacked him playfully on the arm. “Not you! I’m sure you would have been yanno, a great girlfriend, or whatever. Um.” He coughed. “Did you...?”

 

Ann nodded enthusiastically. “He regretted ever talking to me after I got him to announce to all his friends that he was his mom’s ‘little cupcake’. Also that he would readily throw any of them under the bus in a heartbeat.” She shrugged. “Didn’t stop him from pulling the same moves later on though, I’m sure.”

 

Ann snorted, covering her mouth. “Oh, I just remembered the first time- I’d left my gloves in the bathroom, and you’d passed me a juicebox. Oh my god,” she giggled. Ryuji quirked an eyebrow at her.

 

“What?”

 

“I remember, I’d been so used to people saying all of these awful, embarrassing things you know? Usually it was whatever they didn’t want people to know, because they’d be worried I was going to make them say it and they’d think it really loudly.” Ryuji definitely remembered hearing some of that, a teacher had lost her job once for saying she’d given one kid a bad grade because he wouldn’t stop kicking his desk chair, and it was driving her to consider learning how to drop kick a football just so she could imagine kicking the kid into orbit. Kinda funny in hindsight.

 

“But you!” She was full on cackling now. “You grabbed my hand and just, kept talking like normal. Went off on a conversation about why orange crayons were the best, and I just remember being so amazed.”

 

Morgana joined in. “Wow his head really is empty!”

 

Ryuji wished he had a rewind quirk. Or a Shut Up The Annoying Cat Sidekick quirk. “I’ll show you an empty head!” He growled. Ann giggled.

 

 

Their target was going by ‘the Wave Wonder’ nowadays. Typical water manipulation quirk, his weakness being that he dehydrated easily, making him just above average as a hero. Too easily exploitable. Of course, he somehow was managing to apprehend three times more villains on a weekly basis than most other up-and-coming heroes, thanks to his less than savoury connections.

 

“Other heroes probably just give him a pass because the villains he fights are barely more than small time thieves,” Makoto said thoughtfully. “It’s really very obvious something is amiss, I’m disappointed nobody has bothered to step in.” Ryuji figured he knew why. No camera's or media crews cared about this shit. No glory. 

 

The Wave Wonder spent a lot of time near Shibuya, conveniently always surrounded by fans during his thwarting heroics. Futaba sent out an anonymous invite posing as a confession letter from an adoring female fan, and it was almost painfully easy to catch him off guard after that. Makoto had simply strolled up at their arranged meeting time, Akira and Yusuke waiting in the shadows nearby, gushed a little about how talented and brave he was- although her acting was pretty bad, Morgana had whispered Ann’s was far worse, somehow- and Akira had snuck himself and Yusuke into the trailing shadow behind ‘Wonder’s’ back without any hassle at all.

 

“I didn’t know Akira could bring anyone with him,” Ryuji nearly exclaimed far too loudly.

 

“It’s easier with two,” Morgana nodded towards the screen, Wave’s eyes shifted from blue to bright gold. “More stamina, faster. More noticeable, though.” Ryuji thought that answered pretty much nothing, but he was mostly pleased Morgana hadn't worked in an insult somehow so he let it go. _Akira never offers to shadow jump me anywhere_ , he thought, bitterly, for some unfathomable and mildly concerning reason. 

 

A recording phone call tucked in Makoto’s pocket grabbed the exact moment Wave Wonder had shared a little too much information, specifically about how he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. The rest was magic.

 

Akira and Yusuke suddenly appeared in full hero costume beside the two, Makoto had backed away quietly, hiding around a corner enough for the phone call to pick up on their words.

 

“Thank you for summing up your crimes so neatly,” Yusuke’s icy voice sent a shiver down Ryuji’s spine over the phone call he was listening intently to. He watched as the pixelated image of Akira smirked across the surveillance screen Futaba had set up earlier.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Wave Wonder snarled, “You really want to take me on? I’ll wipe the floor with both of you, I’m the Wave Wonder after all! And I-”

 

Wave had started to pull water from the fountains and sewer pipes nearby, a whip-like tendril flashing in the dim lights around them. Outside of their hide away corner the late night bustle of citizens carried on unaware.

 

Yusuke stepped forwards, sliding his right foot towards Wave like he were about to twist into an intricate figure skating performance. The water around Wave crystallized, points stretching down and around him like a jail cell. 

 

“The hell?!” Wave shrieked as the ice solidified, trapping him firmly in his own water.

 

“You have two choices,” Akira said, and the flash of his gold eyes was piercing even through the screen. “One, we take this handy recording to the police and post it online ourselves, and let the public deal with you,” Wave began whimpering at the sight of the recorder Akira casually flipped out of his coat pocket, Akira ignored him and strolled closer. “Or two.” Akira stopped in front of Wave Wonder, reaching through the icy bars and tilting Wave’s chin up with his gloved hand. “You confess to everything you’ve done on your own terms. They might be more forgiving. Maybe they won’t even run you out of the city.”

 

“Oh god,” Wave whined and snivelled. Ann made a gagging sound beside Ryuji. “No, please, I’m sorry. I- do you know how hard it is to make it as a hero these days? It’s not my fault, I just found a loophole and-”

 

“Trying to avoid taking responsibility again?” Yusuke twisted his foot and the ice pressed closer inwards. “I’d think carefully about your next response.”

 

 _God_ , Ryuji thought. His face felt overly warm for some reason watching the two. Futaba glanced over at him as he cleared his throat roughly, and a knowing smirk crossed her expression. Ryuji pointedly kept his eyes trained on the screen. Who even understood Futaba and her weird smirks. Not like it meant anything, whatever. 

 

Wave whined and pleaded a bit, before promising he’d confess. Akira had assured him that if he hadn’t turned himself in by the weekend, a taped confession would be everywhere on TV and radio and he’d never be able to show his face again. Wave cried and whined some more, Akira and Yusuke leapt back off into the shadows, picking up Makoto as they went.

 

“Like I said,” Futaba’s glasses reflected the screen, the muffled sound of Wave’s self pitying bullshit floating around them before Makoto hung up the phone call. “Easy peasy.”

 

Ryuji forced himself to blink and shake his head a little, “d’you think he’ll actually confess?”

 

Morgana stretched beside him, “they usually do, they think it'll keep their blunders off the big screens. This guy’s going to end up on the news either way though, being a U.A. graduate.”

 

“Huh,” Ryuji blinked again. He wondered if it could really be that fast, if Kamoshida would beg and cry too. Part of him kind of really hoped so, the other part of him was disgusted.

 

The pixelated Wave on the TV screen was picking himself off the ground, still wailing from what Ryuji could tell. “I’ll track him for a few days, until he either confesses or doesn’t, and then we’ll- wait.” Futaba leaned closer to the screen, eyebrows furrowing. “Who’s he calling…?”

 

Ann stepped closer, placing her hand on Futaba’s shoulder and leaning closer. “Tell Makoto to go back, maybe we can hear what’s going on.”

 

Futaba’s hands flew over the keyboard, she repeated the words into her headset. Noise filtered back through the speakers after a moment as Akira pulled them all closer.

 

“-unno! They just came outta nowhere, I-I swear I was being careful. N-no I- sir, please if you-” Wave’s voice was rising in pitch, with all the crying he’d been doing Ryuji was sure he was probably out of gas power by now. Not a threat, super pathetic, but his voice was wavering with genuine fear Ryuji could feel even through the shitty connection. Something about this didn't sit well, he wasn't sure if it was his quirk or not.

 

“That… doesn’t sound good,” Morgana whispered, Ryuji agreed wholeheartedly.

 

“The hell…?”

 

“Makoto, tell Akira to get you guys closer. I know it’s risky, trust me. This only works in a certain range.” Futaba had a steely glint in her eyes, warped in the sharp lighting of the dark room. Ryuji had never actually seen Futaba’s quirk in real time, or ever really got the clarification she even had one. He'd thought that it must be wicked strong. She was top of the support track for a reason, he guessed.

 

Wave was rubbing his knuckles against his forehead, “I-I… they said they’d put it on the news? I didn’t do anything different, I- sir please, give me more time I can-” Pure panic spiked through the connection, white hot and visceral. Ryuji grabbed onto the desk in front of him, feeling his own heart rate shoot up as the emotion nearly overwhelmed him. Ann shot a concerned look his way, he grit his teeth harder even as his vision swam. Futaba’s glasses went opaque.

 

On screen, a green flash of light appeared for a split second, seemingly jumping from the shadows to the phone in Wave’s hand. Futaba’s hands went fuzzy, Ryuji wasn’t sure if it was the unadulterated fear causing his sight to fade out, but he could see the desk through her hands. Like she’d become a hologram or a ghost.

 

Wave on the screen had fallen to his knees, pleading into the receiver about something. The panic increased at the same moment Futaba gasped, and her hands turned solid again.

 

“Shit,” she fell backwards against her chest, pulling her headphones off of her like they’d caught fire. “Shit, Makoto!” She was staring wide eyed, Ryuji’s knees buckled slightly as her own fear began to mingle with the feedback from their faint connection.

 

Futaba pulled the mic up, and, _oh_ , she was shaking. Futaba was- “Makoto! Akira, get the hell out of there now!”

 

The green flash of light appeared again, but this time, Wave’s eyes widened. “Oh,” Wave said, the fear loop suddenly snapped off; Ryuji shuddered at the whiplash, trying to sort the sudden influx of energy coursing through him. It felt like an uncomfortable static burn underneath his skin, he was… it was burning, it was hot. _Oh god_.

 

He must have yelped our wheezed or something, suddenly Futaba was turning towards him with wide, frightened eyes and Ann had her arms wrapped around him, barking at Morgana to do something.

 

Ryuji watched the floor abruptly rush up towards him, Ann’s blue eyes appearing in front of him and _god, there was too much_ , he felt the spiking, molten burn increase as concern and panic lapped at him in stretching tongues of more fire. “Stop,” he meant to say, but his mouth was open in a long gasp and he wasn’t sure if he managed to make a noise at all.

 

 _Ah, there you are,_ something in him recoiled. Something else reached back. _Hello, Ryuji._

“Cut the phone line!” Futaba was screaming. _How’d you find us, Ryuji, you should be scared, Ryuji,_ and oh god, he was so scared; Ryuji felt her fear and Ann’s fear and Morgana’s fear and his control, he was going to lose it. The realization swept over him, an icy slide against the waves of burnt out overwhelmed circuitry in him. They were all cramped up in Futaba’s bedroom and Ryuji was going to lose it. He’d never held this much power in him before, and he’d torn a bathroom apart then.

 

_Aren’t you scared Ryuji, aren’t you terrified?_

 

“Get out,” he tried to tell Ann’s round blue eyes. “You have to leave.” _Ann’s there too? Wait, you keep thinking a nam_ e…  Ann didn’t deserve this, whoever was in his head was going to find out everything, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

 

_Akira, Makoto… you guys are the Phantom Thieves, aren’t you?_

 

The swelling riptide in him reached it’s tipping point, his mouth was already open but he couldn’t scream and something was pulling at him, prying into his thoughts like a file cabinet and he could see it happening, the way he’d combust outwards like a fireball or a comet and-

 

A red glove touched his cheek, brown eyes flashing gold.

 

The shadows felt cold, he was glad.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that sweet as hell cliff hanger but, yanno, gotta stick at least one in here. That is my awful trademark I guess? ;^)


	6. last year i felt miserable and alone but ive really turned it around! now im alone and miserable!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji feels confident and good for two seconds, then is nerfed immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man I am so sorry for how late this is, busy as heck time of the year oi vey. Also.... not super happy with the beginning of this chapter? I think it's kinda clear I liked writing the last half more but. I had a whole other plot point written out that threw off too much of what I'd planned for yanno, potential sequel? (I might end up just making it part of this one and save sequels for any spin off scenes I have written because, there are a Lot of Those)
> 
> Anyways enough rambling, I really appreciate those of you who leave so many thoughtful and enthusiastic comments each chapter? They make me tear up and feel many feelings. I'm sorry this chapter is a whole lot of Poor Ryuji but uh, well,

Consciousness pulled at him, a thousand different shards at once. Ryuji ached, an all-over stretch like new skin forming over old burns. He was half dreaming, probably. A voice in his head digging through files and picking old ones at random, whispering _sorry, Ryuji, I'm sorry._

 

 _It's okay,_ he wanted to whisper back.  _Everyone already knows who they think I am. Nuthin' left that's mine anymore anyways._

 

The voice faded away with a sad sort of half wish, something not formed but wistful, like hoping for a better birthday party when no one showed up. Like wishing you'd had friends to lose in the first place. Deliriously he tried to wrap the trickling voice in his hands, to hold it still. _I know what that's like,_ he thought, probably also as sadly. 

 

The half state swirled away into more grounding voices, spots of light, a pounding and miserable headache. He remembered some things, a phone line maybe. Feeling weirdly flustered, avoiding Futaba's shark tooth grin- a bolt of pain stabbed him between the eyes. Someone needed to turn off the sun, like, yesterday. 

 

 

 

“- to leave. Like, right now. If he tracked us, he could be here any second!”

 

“It doesn’t matter, you know what Akira said about his quirk. He’ll find us anyway.”

 

“This is bad, this is so bad.”

 

“Calm down,” that was Akira. Ryuji’s hands twitched.

 

“Right, okay. Yeah. We have to think, no time for panic.” Ryuji thought Makoto sounded stressed, but, she didn’t feel stressed. She didn’t feel like anything. Actually, Ryuji couldn’t feel anything from anyone. Like he was stuck in plastic wrap, their voices sounded panicked but he felt out of focus somehow, cold but warm. A solid neutral buzzing nothing. 

 

“If he knew we were at Boss’ place, doesn’t. Doesn’t that mean we should warn Boss? He’s going to connect the dots, Futaba’s in the records somewhere, right?”

 

“I deleted everything as best as I could before, well. Before Ryuji, uh. But, if what Akira’s saying is true, that guy already got everything anyways.”

 

Everyone fell silent, Ryuji realized he was lying down, somewhere. The floaty feeling was a bed under him. He tried to open his eyes and managed to draw his brows closer together; he felt cut off somehow, like a phantom limb sensation. Something missing that was so part of him his brain was firing at all cylinders to fix the gap.

 

“He’s waking up,” a hand brushed across his forehead, gloved and warm. He scrunched his brows tighter, a groan squeaking out of him as his limbs all awoke along with him. Ow.

 

“Hey, hey Ryuji,” Ann cooed, her palm squeezed his arm gently. His head throbbed louder and he groaned again. “Don’t move too fast okay? Someone dim the lights a little, please!” The bright grey around him faded some, he managed to pull his eyelids open halfway. Ann’s blue eyes met his, as he blearily took in his surroundings.

 

She smiled, “hey, there you are. Had us worried for a bit there.”

 

Ryuji squinted at her, god his mouth was dry. “Wha-” he blinked, coughing slightly. “What the ‘eff, man.”

 

Everyone snickered, like some of the tension had slid out of the room. He still felt weird, not tense. Not relaxed. Hurting in under the skin ways of bad but, numb somehow. 

 

He swallowed roughly, “wh-why can’ I feel an’thin’?” he turned his head slightly, following the glove gently brushing through his hair to Akira’s typical calm smile. Except it wasn’t calm, Akira’s mouth was downturned. He looked, pinched. Stressed.

 

Ryuji gaped. “Wait, what happ’ned?”

 

Yusuke cleared his throat. “You suffered a direct attack from a U.A student. Their quirk managed to follow you through your empathic ability and nearly caused you to overload, or so it seems. Currently we are attempting to subdue your ability to prevent us from being followed and attacked.”

 

Morgana slapped a paw against his forehead. "Way to say everything right after he nearly lost his top, Fox."

 

“Oh,” he supposed that explained a few things, a lot of things. Damn, so this was his fault then, really. He remembered, abruptly, the burn like a star was forming directly between his ribs and extending down into his shin. A trail of black holes erupting in between. He remembered feeling like it was too big for his skin and then-

 

“You didn’t have to say it like that, Yusuke.” Ann sighed. "It really was fine, Ryuji. Nothing we couldn't handle!"

 

“‘M sorry guys, I almost... I coulda-damn, I...” Ryuji tried to sit up, Akira’s hand moved to his back, helping him upwards as his vision swum dangerously. “Ugh.” 

 

“This isn’t your fault Ryuji,” Makoto crouched down beside the bed, “We… we messed up.”

 

Futaba sighed, Ryuji glanced around, catching her swinging legs on a couch. They were, in Akira’s room? Odd. Ryuji’s head hurt.

 

“We didn’t mess up, I did. I didn’t look into our guy well enough, I left a pathway open for them to get to Ryuji. I was the dummy who decided to use my bedroom, it’s my fault.” Futaba looked… wilted. Ryuji should be able to sense something, Akira’s hand hadn’t left his back, this was weird.

 

“You’re not the one who’s quirk is an ‘effin time bomb,” Ryuji pulled his knee in closer and leaned his forehead against it. His thoughts were all disjointed, out of order like his head had been ransacked. Exhaustion pulled at him in unsettling waves.  "M' guessin this is when I gotta hand in my hero mask, huh? Now that you guys know."

 

Ann's brows furrowed. "Now that we know what? Don't be so vague."

 

Ryuji sighed dramatically. Everything was still raw somehow. Like he'd been flipped inside out and awkwardly stuffed back into place right after. "I could have hurt you guys, I don't have friggin' control over any of my own shit. Dammit. I don't even know what happened, who's following us? Who's quirk was that? Why the eff' can't I yanno. See anything?"

 

"You've lost your vision?" Yusuke sounded shocked. He didn't feel shocked, just nothing. Ryuji hated this. 

 

He waved his arms uselessly, plopping his head farther on his leg. "No yanno, I mean. Yeah, I can see. Just, I can't feel it you know? The things." Hey, nobody said he was a poet. 

 

Akira's hand rubbed a soothing circle against his back, Ryuji felt absolutely terrible. "No ones kicking you out, Ryuji. I have you under a shadow, for the moment. Null space, cancelling out trackers." He felt more than saw Akira shrug. "Made sense at the time."

 

"Didn't know it'd short out your quirk though," Futaba leaned in, tapping a pen against her chin. "Weird. What exactly can you see? Yanno, normally."

 

Ryuji shrugged, this was a lot of thinking they were asking of his stupid bruised brain. He felt like there was a tangle in his chest he'd need to work through later. Something gnarled and barbed he couldn't fathom touching at the moment, but that screamed guilt and regret at him anyways. "Colours? Feelings? I dunno, Ma's an empath. Shit's weird."

 

"Weird too, trying to look at your eyes floating in the middle of a shadow, let's all vote not to do this ever again," Ann grumbled. Ryuji snorted a tired laugh. "Also, maybe try to do less of that glowy eyed static thing? You fried my cellphone."

 

"Ah, sorry. I'll pay you for a new one. So, wait. Who's following us? All that stuff sounded pretty urgent. Are we like, caught? What are we just sitting around for?" He was scared to say the word, like acknowledging the weight of things would send Police busting through the door. 

 

“Hey, give us some credit! We moved you somewhere more hidden didn't we? You were a little brain fried after all, if you could get your shit together better we would be out of here..... It’s just, uh,” Morgana actually looked hesitant. Ryuji squinted at him.

 

“It’s what?” He realized everyone was looking anywhere but directly at him; all different levels of shifting glances and something guilty? Maybe. Dammit, Ryuji had never been good at double speaking, he didn’t get the underlying bullshit. It had been a grand total of maybe ten minutes and he already hated not feeling anything.

 

“What the hell’s goin’ on, dammit!”

 

“It’s Kamoshida,” Akira said finally. “He sicced Mishima on us, I’d guess. Didn't know his quirk worked over cell phone signals.”

 

Ryuji blinked. Mishima's quirk was how Kamoshida kept in power, he knew. Influencing and... info gathering? Oh no. He remembered a faint whisper apologizing, vaguely. Poor Mishima. Poor Akira, oh god, no wonder his head felt overripe and awful. Mishima knew everything then, and he'd have to tell Kamoshida. “Shit, I… shit. How long was I out?"

 

“Just a few hours,” Yusuke nodded. “Kamoshida made a statement too. ‘A grand announcement on Friday, fit for a King.’ He invited everyone to watch the news, Makoto thinks he’s going to have you all expelled.”

 

“Wait… a few hours? What time is it?”  His mom would be so worried.

 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Morgana’s voice was high pitched with frustration, Ryuji winced as his head throbbed.

 

“Yeah, yeah I heard the rest of it. Friday, I’m screwed, we're all screwed, Kamoshida has all the shit in his court again, yadda yadda.” He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. "I almost 'effin blew up Futaba's room, too. Dammit.”

 

By Friday. He looked around at everyone, they looked tense and drawn. Probably running on adrenaline and panic alone. Akira had been using his quirk on Ryuji the entire time he was passed out too. Shit, the guy was probably exhausted. Probably. He was actually frowning instead of the careful blank nothing he always had. Stress lines like little folds of paper cropped up around his eyes and shit- he was a teenager, he shouldn't even have those. _Akira..._

He hated not being able to see what they were all feeling. Maybe Akira had been right, that he wouldn’t want to not feel, because not knowing meant taking everything at face value, and face value was shit. Face value was hopeless and scared and small. It felt like some weird climactic turning point had leaped up and snapped all of them up in its claws far before it was meant to. Ryuji had only been on the team for, what, a month? 

 

He barely knew them, they barely knew anything about him. This felt like a defeat, but that was impossible, wasn't it?

 

Ryuji frowned.

 

“So, Kamoshida’s leadin’ some kind of bad hero ring then? Knew he was up to some kinda bullshit.”

 

Morgana sighed, “that’s what it looks like, yes.”

 

“Wow, this shits worse than we thought. Disgusting asshole, has the whole stupid city under his thumb don't he?”

 

Makoto winced. “Looks like.”

 

Ryuji glanced around the room again. Yusuke looked pensive, Morgana’s ears flattened to his head. Futaba was stiller than he’d ever seen her, her knees drawn up tight, pen pressed hard against her lower lip. Ann and Makoto had their arms linked, both staring at the ground biting their lips. Akira was… Akira, but there were lines by his mouth, a tense stress to his face that Ryuji had never seen before.

 

“Okay,” everyone glanced up at him. “So, what are we sitting around for?” He squeezed his knuckles, clasping his hands together. _He should probably be scared_ , he thought. He’d been scared before, maybe he was too tired now. 

 

“What do you mean? We just said, Kamoshida knows we’re after him. He knows who we are!” Ann frowned.

 

“I mean, if we take Kamoshida down before then, that’ll be good, right? So what if we have to reveal ourselves after that.” His voice got stronger as he spoke, everyone seemed stunned, the grey fuzz continued. “We’ll have made things better by then. Kamoshida will get to rot behind bars, an-and he won’t hurt any kids ever again. And! And we’ll have shown everyone, given ‘em all hope. That heroes are just, people. And they can be taken down just like anyone.”

 

“Ryuji-” Akira started, his mouth hooking downwards oddly. Ryuji bristled, angry, then. After all this? All the pep talks and the kind words and the bravery, they were just going to passively wait for everything to collapse on them? Bullshit. 

 

“So what were you guys planning? To sit here, wait for me to wake up, and just. Let Kamoshida win? The hell, guys? I know I’m new to this whole hero thing, I know I… haven’t helped much at all so far, honestly I kinda screwed us over more than I’ve helped but. There’s gotta be something we can do, there just has to be. You're all supposed to be the smart ones, how come you're missing the obvious?”

 

He twisted his fingers against each other hard enough to see bone white. "We're 'effin heroes aren't we? Heroes don't run away."

 

He stared hard at the floorboards, resolving himself to just. Go anyways. Even if they thought it was a bad idea. It was better than sitting around, probably. Kamoshida would kick his ass but someone needed to something. Better the useless fuck up than anyone else, honestly. Maybe he could explode his leg on purpose and at least mess up some of Kamoshida's paperwork in the process. 

 

He’d been told once that was what made him strong, that he wanted to help. He just hoped that would be enough. 

 

Akira’s hand left his shoulder. He felt it then, a barrage of so much. Admiration, pride, awe. Fear was there, underneath but resolve held it strong and cemented. Ryuji felt everything snap back into full focus with a sharp inhale, and maybe a burn behind his eyes he refused to acknowledge. 

 

“You never cease to surprise me,” Akira chuckled. “I was just going to say you were right.”

 

“Spoken like a true Phantom Thief,” Morgana nodded, everyone else grinned with him, slowly, like dawn breaking over a hilltop. “But, well. Akira’s clearly given up on keeping your empathy off the grid," Akira rubbed his neck sheepishly." so I guess we better start moving. What’s the plan?”

 

“We still have the same problem,” Futaba spoke up, uncurling slightly. “We don’t know the weakness he has that’ll make his defenses low enough. Charging at him now would be… well, a suicide mission, more or less.”

 

Right, that was why they'd tried to go after Wave in the first place. Take down some small time nobodies, learn things, hopefully figure out how to make Kamoshida drop his guard enough to catch him. All they'd done was walk straight into his trap. 

 

“What if we could access someone outside of his sphere of influence?” Yusuke tapped his chin, eyes stormy. “What if there were a retired villain that we knew of that might know about Kamoshida’s under dealings?”

 

Makoto shifted, “That was. Oddly specific Yusuke. Something to share maybe?”

 

“Hm, it’s just a thought but. With this new information coming to light, it did cross my mind that Kamoshida likely had to build up his network over time, and if he’s anything like my… mentor… he likely has made a few enemies. A villain who was once notorious but has since faded into obscurity might know a few people like that, correct? Since he would likely have been in the community for years.” Yusuke turned his gaze of Ryuji, ice and steel.

 

“Pointbreak once fought the King, didn't he? A man with a quirk that strong shouldn't have lost so easily to someone like Kamoshida.”

 

Ryuji felt his jaw drop ever so slightly, the room dropped several degrees along with it. Everyone tensed.

 

Yusuke brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s likely Pointbreak, a retired villain, would have little to gain from assisting the hero that publicly ended his career. It had occurred to me previously, when Ryuji first joined, but it seems rather obvious now.”

 

Ryuji thought of breaking news, of police lights in bright blues and reds splashing through their front window,of waiting every night to see if he'd climb back over the backyard fence like nothing changed. It made sense, in a weird way. Maybe they'd made a deal, Kamoshida had screwed his dad over last instant and landed him in maximum security with nothing but a shriveled pride and wounded ego. Pointbreak shouldn't have lost to Kamoshida, all the news reports had marveled at it back in the day. Knowing the King had been the one to finally kick the crap out of Pointbreak had been one of the reasons he'd signed on for the internship in the first place. 

 

Funny, how that worked out. 

 

“Pointbreak is our next target.” Ryuji found himself blurting, blinking for a moment in shock that he’d said the words so confidently. Blinking again when he realized he meant them.

 

He felt their eyes on him before the surprise and empathetic admiration. He shrugged, pulling his shoulders tightly around his ears and shoving his hands in his pockets. “What? You heard Yusuke. The prick’s motivated only by money and his own ego anyway, probably doesn’t give a shit about ratting Kamoshida out. It’s our best bet.”

 

“Ryuji…” Ann breathed, wide eyed. “I-if you’re sure…”

 

Ryuji wasn’t sure, not at all. He’d dreamt of meeting his dad on a battlefield, after so many years and empty bottles between them. He’d imagined all the witty one liners, all the dramatic entrances, all the ways he’d finally take his old man down and take back everything the bastard had stolen from his mother all those years ago.

 

But then his dad had retired and crawled into some bug infested crevice to be recklessly forgotten, and Ryuji’d stopped dreaming entirely.

 

“Yeah,” he said, ignoring the high strain in his voice. “I got this.”

 

Akira’s hand, fell on his shoulder again, but instead of blocking anything with his shadow’s murky touch, Ryuji felt a pure static shock of something warm and bright too large to name. Akira squeezed and smiled down at him, and Ryuji uncurled his shoulders ever so slightly. The guy had broken more of Ryuji’s bones than Kamoshida, and terrorized his dreams for years but. Maybe it’d be fine. His chest did something funny as Akira’s hand left his shoulder and brushed Ryuji’s cheek quickly. _Yeah_ , he thought.

 

_It’ll be fine._

 

 

 

 

It took approximately twelve seconds for things to fall decidedly on the ‘not fine’ scale after they cornered Pointbreak in some dingy run down bar on the far side of town.

 

It took exactly 47 more seconds for things to tip towards ‘drastically the worst, actually.’

 

The next day, Futaba had pinged them all that she'd figured out where the old man hung out most days. Ryuji had woken up feeling wrong all over. Like something Mishima had done had forced a spotlight onto a part of himself he wasn't ready to face. The gnarl in his chest was bigger now, tangled up and around his heart and cinching tighter with every breath. He had a bad feeling about their plan, but then, the moments were made of bad feelings now. Now that Kamoshida knew. 

 

Now that Ryuji knew just how easy it was to make him lose his quirk entirely. 

 

Ryuji had clenched his fists, bit his lip, and adamantly decided he would go with the team to talk to his dear old dad. He should have known that was a mistake, long before his father’s eyes passed over him without so much as a hint of recognition. He’d been bracing for, something, anything really. He wasn’t sure. But the vacant uncaring disinterest had him off kilter.

 

He faltered, thankfully, Akira swooped in where he’d left too many blanks. That, as it turned out, had also been a mistake.

 

“Pointbreak?” Akira tilted a glass his direction, Futaba had drilled it into their heads before they’d headed out that they needed to play it cool.

  _It’s going to be late, on a not so nice part of town full of criminals who have little to lose. You can’t let on that you’re scared, you can’t let on anything. It'll be bad enough that they'll know you're all kids, don't give them any weakness.’_

Ryuji figured it was probably better he’d lost his ability to speak somewhere between seeing the terribly familiar hunched shoulders beside them, and the way his pale eyes had swept across him like searchlights in the fog. The only words crossing his mind were either full of vitriol or a series of _'holy shit, oh god, 'eff this'._

 

“Fuck, nobody has said that name in years,” Pointbreak grumbled. His voice was shards, splinters of a record that skipped over and over in loops on feverish nightmare fueled 3AM pep talks as Ryuji splashed water in his face and tried to stare at the unblemished parts of his arms, like he was waiting for them to suddenly turn purple and stretch into fingerprints. This was a bad, horrible, awful, traumatic idea, probably. Ryuji was extra sure he should have let Makoto tag along instead. Even if her instinctual distaste of villains would have twisted up her kind eyes the second she walked in. Even if her sister's popularity would have made her immediately known. At least she wouldn't have a panic attack in the process. 

 

“Oh, don’t be so modest. Everyone knows Pointbreak, the most terrifying villain of the decade!” Ann practically purred, sliding a fake as hell smile over her features. She hated this part, Akira hated this part. Ryuji sometimes wondered if that was the true part that heroes played; giving up pieces after pieces of themselves for something too big to even see. He hoped it was worth it, had to believe it was.

 

 _See? Ann's not as bad at acting as Morgana made it sound_ , he thought, vaguely. Nervously. _We still got this. Just keep your cool Ryuji._

Pointbreak’s brows drew tighter, his lip curling upwards. Ryuji tensed, expecting another undefinable something. Pointbreak just seemed vaguely disgusted, a faint yellow-green that faded almost as soon as Ryuji caught sight of it. “Whatever. You want something, cut to the fuckin’ chase.”

 

Ryuji could actively feel the moment they tipped over the edge and landed hard in the ‘we’re over our heads’ zone, saw it too with the way Ann’s fear suddenly spiked outwards. He admired the way she kept her smile in place, though. Danger signs were emanating from every pore on Pointbreaks weathered skin. Around them, the bar was drawing closer and closer towards curiosity. The sting of a dozen gazes pinged off of Ryuji's shoulders like hail stones. 

 

“You’re right,” Akira said simply, tilting his glass and swirling whatever liquid he’d managed to convince the uncaring bartender to slide his way. “We want to get back at the King. Heard from a guy you might be willing to help.”

 

Ryuji had to force himself not to let his eyeballs pop out of his skull. J _esus, Akira._ Pointbreak’s frown deepened, Ryuji felt a flash of suspicion needle against his skin. Warning bells were blaring in his brain. louder and more shrill. _They were screwed, this was screwed, oh god they-_

Ann’s hand slid playfully against Pointbreak’s arm. Like she was trying to grab his attention or comfort him, Ryuji stared at her carefully painted fingernails and wondered if they’d both lost their marbles entirely.

 

“Come on, you were such a badass in the day. Wouldn’t you want to regain just a little bit of that infamy? Get yourself out of this dump?” Ann’s voice was melting honey, all sweet and slow, soothing. Ryuji blinked, _oh. No gloves._

 

Pointbreak snorted. “‘Course I fuckin’ would. You’re barking up the wrong tree though, I don’t give two shits either way what happens to me or the King. You kids must have not heard the name Sakamoto, huh?” Ryuji flinched, caught the way Pointbreaks gaze flickered to him, and stared hard at his knuckles. The whites of his fists pushed against his skin like ghosts pushing on an old door. Or a wall, or cracked wooden arches and-

 

“They say it’s a family tradition.” Pointbreak continued, taking a long sip of his amber sparkling drink. “We get real angry, and break everything apart.” He smiled, all gap toothed and chipped sharp bits and Ryuji nearly flinched again when he hazarded a glance. “Can’t control it, really. My great, great grandpa had this quirk, you know. Called him the meteor or something stupid. Coulda taken out the whole planet if he’d gotten angry enough, and boy,” his voice dropped, low and threatening. “Did he ever get angry. Took out two hundred people before someone got him.” Pointbreak laughed, dark and slow. “I missed my prime, got snuffed out too soon before the fun could really start. Damn King, always knew not to trust anyone who bragged like he did. Way too many people want to see you fall, then.”

 

Ryuji’s throat was so dry, Pointbreak was a desert; scorching red and lost in a thick haze of orange heat. He wanted to leave, god. Ryuji needed to get out. To go home and dive under the covers and _not be here._

 

“You know,” Pointbreak continued, his voice suddenly lighter. Ryuji instinctively looked up as he heard the man shift in his seat, meeting Ann’s pale face over Pointbreak’s shoulder. Pointbreak was staring right at him, pale icy eyes locked on him, cold enough it stole the air from Ryuji’s lungs.

 

“I tried to fight it once. Thought I could make something more of myself, be a hero. World has a way of lookin’ at quirks that break, though, end up kicking the good right out of you.”

 

Ryuji swallowed, opened his mouth. Faltered. _You'd been good, once?_ He thought, _was that before or after you decided bruises were better than flowers?_   His mom's words rang in his head, something about 'good things'. _He'd wanted to be a hero, once. Did they make you into this?_ Ryuji thought of the kids in the bathroom, about being a villain inevitably one day. About how quirks were enough to make people take advantage, run away, scoff at, cower from. He wanted to yell at Pointbreak, mostly he wanted to never feel sorry for him even for half a second ever again.  _Mom deserved better than you._

 

Akira cleared his throat. “Well, if you’re content to wallow in your self pity, I guess we’ll find our way out then.”

 

The heat-cold left, like it had been sucked out an airlock all at once. Ryuji felt shaky. His mouth was still open.

 

“Come on,” Akira patted his back, jolting Ryuji into stumbling out of his stool. He was overwhelmed by a desire to run. To get outside and away from those eyes, the clear air would wipe away the sand scrapped burn in his chest, he believed it wholeheartedly and intensely. If he could just get outside.

 

The three of them made their way to the door, Ryuji focusing on each step carefully. Heel-toe. Heel-toe. _You can’t run, if you run he’ll know._

 

“Hey,” Pointbreak called out. They froze. “You’re that kid that attacked a teacher, aren’t you.” Shit, his limp. He’d forgotten to hide it. _Shit._

 

Ryuji couldn’t turn around, he couldn’t. He was cement and frozen steel and made of terrified shattered bits, but he was turning, then.

 

“Kamoshida,” he found himself whispering. "Told everyone it was self-defense." Pointbreak’s eyes were judge and jury, something settled darkly in his smile. Ryuji shuddered, arms prickling with the force of it.

 

“Huh,” He sipped his drink again, Ryuji’s shoulders were granite, rock. Steel and ice. Pointbreak seemed satisfied, like a cat who'd just been fed. Or a lion. “Well, well. I'd be lying if I wasn't a little impressed, not too many idiots would dare fight back. Guess stubbornness is a rare trait to come by these days." Long fangs flashed in Ryuji's mind, he felt it then, a hard slap of absolute awareness. Like Ryuji had waltzed into the spider's web, a fly who thought he'd be the one who didn't get caught.

 

"if I know anything about the fucker, King, I mean, I know he likes his trophies. Likes to keep ‘em right in front of him. Wouldn’t be too happy about one of his trophies running off on him. If I had to guess a weakness, I’d say he lets pretty things get too close.”

 

Trophies, pretty things. Ann, oh, Ryuji’s brain was cotton and fog but he processed that much. He nodded, stiffly, moving to leave again. Akira’s face was unreadable, his lips pressed thinly and something in Ryuji’s gut roiled.

 

“One more thing,” Pointbreak said casually, Ryuji heard his glass clink against the counter, felt the amusement rolling off the man in waves. “I may not give a shit about anything these days, but the King has the city wrapped around his finger. It'd be nice to watch that fucker choke. But. I’d be careful where you show your face. ‘Specially one as noticeable as yours, Blondie.”

 

Ryuji was going to be sick.

 

“We can take care of ourselves, thanks.” Akira sounded off, Ryuji couldn’t think on it. _Blondie, god, he forgot_.  _The festival._ His dad knew it was him, there was no way he couldn’t. They hadn’t picked hero names yet, so Ryuji's name had been blasted across every television set for months. _He was an idiot._

 

“Yeah, sure. You kids have that air, yanno. Arrogant, thinking you can take anything on. Even a retired has-been who’s got nothing left to lose and not a damned thing to hold him back.” The swirling amusement coalesced into a spear that jabbed Ryuji straight through the spine; they were mice staring down a dragon, they were so far over their heads, they needed to leave. _Now_.

 

“A villain is a villain, no matter how he starts out or where he thinks he is. Don’t get too cocky, boy.”

 

Ryuji sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes open. The news had put his name everywhere, the people on the train knew him, the people at his mom’s work. Ryuji shouldn’t have come, o _h god he shouldn’t have come_. Akira’s red glove wrapped around his wrist.

 

“We’re leaving, thanks for the help.” he announced. Pointbreak was laughing somewhere, getting fainter, Ryuji’s vision swam.

 

 

 

The cold air hit in like a brick wall, less comforting, more ice on an open wound. He choked, maybe he was drowning. “Shit,” he was saying, repeatedly, hands on his knees and muttering the word over and over. “He knew it was me, he. God he k-knew, I-”

 

“Ryuji, calm down, you have to breathe,” Ann’s hand was on his cheek, her other making circles on his spine. Her palm felt cool, he was a raging inferno and he leaned into it. “He didn’t know, okay? He would have said or.... something. I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have made you come. Ah, Akira what do we-”

 

“He said I’d be a villain,” he blurted. “You heard that, right? That I’ll take out half the city if no one stops me. You guys saw it too, last night. And, the bathroom back at school when the- oh god.” Ryuji’s eyes were open he knew they were but he couldn’t see anything, his chest was so tight, nothing felt right- real, it was all. Bad. “Maybe he meant they killed him, before. Two hundred people he... D-do you think you’ll have to kill me?”

 

Ann’s face twisted, paled, she snatched her hand away from Ryuji’s cheek with watering eyes. “I...R-ryuji, you can’t…”

 

Ryuji growled, he felt pent up. Wound tight, too tight like his springs would burst a hundred different directions. “What if it happens. What if I blow up right now. Fuck, I can’t hurt you, god, I don’t wanna hurt anyone.” He was tearing at his hair probably, the spikes of pain peppered against his scalp and shit, he was still burning, _why was he burning?_

 

“You won’t,” Akira pulled on his wrist again, gently. Firm. Dragging his twitching fingers away from himself. “We won’t let you.”

 

Maybe before, maybe Ryuji would have found that reassuring. Maybe Akira’s typical blunt honesty would have been enough, but it seemed so rigid, bleak. So Point A to Point B. Ryuji wasn’t smart enough to get these nuances, the greater picture Akira seemed to always see. He just had dots, he was here and he was going to go there. He was good and inevitably, inescapably, he’d be bad. And Akira would have to stop him.

 

He couldn’t think beyond the clawing desert snapping brittle shards of earth in the heat of his chest, but he knew, he couldn’t handle that. He couldn’t make Akira do that, not after everything. Ryuji couldn’t make Ann hold him down, look him in the eye, bundle him off to jail or worse, and carry on.

 

“You’re panicking,” Ryuji blinked his eyes wide, realizing Akira had shoved them off to an alleyway, that he never felt himself move. “Listen to me Ryuji, you’re safe. You’re okay, he’s gone. He didn't follow.”

 

The words were familiar, something like 'I believe you'. Maybe a little like 'I want to believe you.' It hurt. 

 

“I can’t,” he pleaded, voice breaking and pained. His watering vision caught Akira’s, felt a bolt of absolute heartbreak pierce through the panic, and suddenly he was pouring everything into his leg. The bad one, the short circuiting broken link and the energy was ricocheting through his nerves, a stray bullet, shards of glass. Edged, jagged.

 

The gnarl in his chest lit up like a firework, catapulting his control into the deep end, somewhere he never dared to so much as toe the line of. They taught it in school, the outer limits of a quirk where risks started to take over. Where too much pumped into one attack at 100% could be entirely unpredictable, could be beyond dangerous.

 

And Ryuji was standing in a narrow alleyway with two of the best people he'd ever met. 

 

 _No!_ He clawed at it mentally, trying to drag the current inwards, throwing everything he had on top of the gap in his wiring to tamp it out. Akira was staring at him still, something like fear edging just slightly around the haloed shine of his dark hair.

 

A whip crack of light snapped outwards from him, Akira held his hands up, Ann yelled. It flashed once, and went dim as the lamps nearby fizzled and sparked out under the force of energy.

 

Ann had fallen backwards, eyes wide and flinching away. Akira’s arms covered his face, his sleeves sizzling and-

 

“Oh god, crap. O-oh, god, Akira.”

 

Bubbling and burnt skin seared into Ryuji’s horrified eyes through the tears in Akira’s gloved hands. He’d done that, he realized. _He’d hurt Akira._

Akira blinked, a flicker of fear thundering around them and Ryuji couldn’t manage to work his lungs enough to voice the absolute horror coursing through him beyond a pathetic near whimper.

 

“Fuck,” Ryuji whispered, like a sob, like a surrender. He squeezed his eyes shut, balled his fists and pressed them tightly to his eyes enough that he saw flashes of red’s and white dots. _Wake up,_ he told himself, a mantra, a desperate plea, _it’s time to wake up, this is a nightmare. It isn’t real._ You’ll open your eyes and be at home and Akira will be texting you a blurry picture of Yusuke and this will be a horrible awful shitty dream. _Please._

 

But his eyes opened, and no amount of pinching or denial would erase the look of shock, or worse, the wavering green-yellow-purple that screamed betrayal and disappointment in awful hues.

 

He’d seen that shade before, with his mom, with the teachers had said that his quirk would never work right again, but this was the final nail in the coffin. What his dad wanted, what they all assumed of him. Ryuji was a villain, point A meet point B.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Ryuji choked out, not that they’d fix any of this. Not that it meant anything, really. Ryuji was sorry for a lot of things, namely, that he’d bothered existing in the first place. That he’d stumbled into Akira’s life like a god damned bull in a china shop and god, they were all still going to get expelled because he couldn’t hold his shit together for five stupid seconds.

 

He wanted to scream. Maybe hurl himself in the nearest river and finally quench the molten dry earth burnt husk growing inside him. Maybe lock himself up in his room and barricade the door like he was a kid all over again. Locking himself in, but he wouldn’t fight it. There’d be no cracked doors this time.

 

Akira lowered his hands slowly, surprise written on his face as he stared at the bloody, pink and charred mess Ryuji’d made, and it was like the sound suddenly kicked back in, the bubble popped, the carousel ride started up again but Ryuji hadn’t found his footing yet. The aching staticy feeling in his knee cap stretched outwards once again and Ryuji had never liked kicking anyone when they were down. He needed to take himself out of the equation before he actually killed one of them.

 

Before they could hold him down and pin his arms and convince themselves he wasn’t going to blow their limbs off because Ryuji didn’t want to, obviously. Because Ryuji could control it, probably. Didn’t seem to matter what Ryuji wanted anymore.

 

In a twist of irony, absolute bullshit cursed upon him by the Assholes that Be, the residual despair swirling madly around them held firm, gumming up the separated wires for a moment. It was enough for him to push it through his toes and take off running before Akira could call out his name.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger x2 c-c-combo


	7. A Nice Warm Cup of Positivi-tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji gets the hot tea, but like. Literally.

Ryuji didn’t go home. His mom would know, immediately if he so much as stepped onto the tarmac outside of their dilapidated building. He couldn’t bring that with him, all the thick roiling self depreciation bubbling over in his skin. She'd take one look at him, and all of the hard cultivation of sunlight she'd scraped up with her fingernails would fade away like a puddle in a summer afternoon, and Ryuji couldn't. He couldn't do that. 

 

She’d told him she’d stopped hanging out with her coworkers because they were boring. When he’d asked about why she’d been spending her nights at home whenever she wasn’t being called in for a split shift or an overnight, she’d pulled her smile up high like hoisting a flag and told him they were all too young for her to share their interests. That she was fine on her own. She'd grown her own sun in her planter box on the kitchen windowsill and said it was enough, that the isolation was all self inflicted, that she was better off. It was all Ryuji's fault, wasn't it?

 

All of it. 

 

Ryuji knew what they’d been saying about him, about her.

 

But she’d been happier, somehow. Even on her own, even with Ryuji doing his stupid angsting emo routine by the train tracks. Because he’d brought friends over once or twice probably, because he’d started trying again. He imagined shoving open their half broken front door, the way her shoulders would immediately roll inwards and down, that same sad 'o' of surprise hitting him with every molecule of shock and sorrow the same as last time. She'd been happier lately, because Ryuji wasn't so hopeless. Because he had friends, he was home more, because he wasn't letting everything beat him down. 

 

He looked distantly down at his hands, feeling a hundred miles away and three steps to the left. Maybe he should have let it beat him down, trying sure hadn't helped. 

 

He couldn’t handle disappointing her again, so he stayed away.

 

Somehow he’d found himself outside of a flower shop, on a quiet part of town. Nestled between the outcrops of towering glinting buildings and an array of umbrellas that stood out in the misty dim like spots of confetti. The rain was pouring in sheets now around him, soaking deep into his bones. His skin still burned and thrummed in a phantom pain that it almost felt welcome. His leg throbbed in tandem with his heartbeat in the sort of way that meant he'd be limping for a while at the very least. He’d overexerted himself, likely. He deserved it, most definitely. He leaned on the wall, stared up at the small canvas ledging over the entrance and sighed. Probably should just lob his leg off at this point, save everyone the trouble.

 

“Excuse me?” A light voice piped up to his side, a small jingle accompanying behind. He tilted his head towards the young girl, she smiled, a tiny friendly, but hesitant upturn of the lips. “The store is still open, if you’d like to step out of the storm?”

 

Ryuji was exhausted, empty in a way he’d never felt before. Her genuine generosity was a twinkling firefly- dim, but there was nothing else to follow. His leg twinged, spasming as he gasped unexpectedly giving out under him. The girl caught him with a flustered whirlwind of muttered concern.

 

"Oh! Dear," She gasped, Ryuji blinked at the slightly swirling puddle below him.  

 

Okay, definitely overexerted himself.

 

“Well, that settles it,” the girl nodded primly, her light brown? Strawberry blonde? bob bouncing with it. “You’re definitely coming inside. I have a nice place for you to rest, poor thing.”

 

Ryuji didn’t have it in him to fight anymore, he let himself be bundled along inside with only a high red tinge to his cheeks as the girl fussed over him. She placed her palm on his forehead, eyes almost crossing as he tried to watch her. She looked focused, brows tight and tongue peeking out slightly as she placed him on a small stool and wrapped towels around him.

 

“Goodness, you’re shaking! It’s not good to be out in weather like this, you’ll catch your death.” She tutted, heaping another blanket around him she’d seemingly dragged out of nowhere.

 

“Not such a bad idea,” he sighed to himself, feeling abruptly scummy allowing himself to play the sad tragic victim, leeching off this strangers kindness. Her eyes flashed towards him, lips flattening but she said nothing. He debated the merits of awkwardly thanking her and breaking for the door anyways, his leg throbbed angrily at the thought. If he face planted at the door she'd probably just plop him back inside anyways.

 

“Let me grab you a nice hot tea, shall I?” Her hair bounced as she nodded to herself, walking briskly off. Ryuji heard the faint clinking of cups and the sound of water after a moment, he tilted his head back and tried to pretend his entire head didn't ache, that eyes weren’t burning. His mind kept flashing that image, that split second where Akira’s eyes had rounded, where the stab of fear had been so palpable. Ryuji had choked on it and nearly fallen apart right then and there. The burnt red-pink of his skin through the disaster that was left of his gloves, and _dammit, Akira loved those gloves._ He never took them off, was always fiddling with them. Ryuji had assumed it was some kind of solidarity with Ann, so Ryuji’d picked up some cool black and metal buckled ones himself too. He stared down at them now, feeling stupid and impossibly dramatic. Who did he think he was anyways? Joining this group of kids that had all been through hell and back but came out of it still good. Still fighting.

 

All while Ryuji had let his bullshit past make him jaded and bitter and so, so selfish. Good, pfft. Who was he kidding. 

 

He’d waltzed over and hung out with them like he’d had a place, let them all believe he was just as brave and cool as they were.

 

A frustrated growl tore through him that caught midway, a solid lump in his throat. _God, he was so... stupid_. 

 

“Here!” The girl reappeared with a polite smile, gently lifting a tray of assorted cups and containers towards him. “I always bring my essentials with me, the flower shop doesn’t often have much company on days like today. Tea is the best cure for any assortment of rainy day blues, I find.” She placed a teacup and saucer beside him on a small table, the quiet clinking made him grit his teeth. “Of course, I should ask if you have any particular tastes? I have Chamomile, Mint-”

 

“Whatever‘s fine,” Ryuji mumbled, turning his gaze away, finding his ears heating up strangely. He was embarrassed by the unassuming kindness and concern spilling from this absolute stranger, it felt like he was lying again. Letting her think he was anyone worth worrying over, not some stupid terrible asshole that kept breaking everything. He really should just say no, but, mom always said it was more rude to turn down gifts. Was this a gift? He didn't even know her, was she expecting him to say no? Maybe he was being too assuming anyways, god, if his head wasn't a giant bruise maybe he could think clearly. She seemed calm, mildly concerned at most with the light lavender hues. Looking directly at the purple swirls around her hands made his eyes feel like they were drying out. Overload was a hell of a thing. Next time he'd ask to speak with the manager or. Something more clever. Dammit. 

 

The girl hummed nonchalantly, and placed a tea bag in the tiny ornate kettle. “Well now, give that one minute to steep," she settled back into her own chair, her own teacup held in her manicured hands. A pinky raised, and knees crossed. Proper.

 

“I’m not going to ask why you were out in weather like this in just a leather jacket, however,” she stirred her tea with careful focus. “I should like to ask where you plan on heading next. Should you like I can call for a taxi. Or else I have plenty of bus fare to offer.”

 

Ryuji shrunk inwards on his seat. “I ‘unno,” he mumbled, he felt so. Immature? Silly. This girl was probably around his age he’d guess, but she was so. Put together, composed. _Stupid, stupid, Ryuji._ “Wasn’t really thinking when I, yanno...”

 

The girl gave him a careful look, her hands stilling as she seemed to mull something over. That same bruising lavender waved in gentle circles, Ryuji stared down at his hands. “Are you… safe?” Her voice had dropped to barely a whisper. Ryuji couldn’t help the flinch that made him squeeze his eyes shut and his hands clench on his thighs. Something in him jolted at the words, he shoved it back aggressively. 

 

“Yeah,” he choked out. “I’m fine, it’s. I’m fine.”

 

“Pardon me for asking, then, but what are you running from?”

 

Ryuji released a long shaky breath. She seemed nice, he reminded himself. Just. Too pushy, maybe. This wasn't her problem, he could handle it. If he would stop being a baby and _think_ , maybe he would get the courage up to turn himself over to the police. Get them to lock him up in a vault four hundred feet underground where he could never hurt anyone again. Problem was, as it always freakin' was, he was so. Scared. 

 

“Look you… you don’t know me, I’m not. I should just go, you’ve been real nice but-”

 

“Absolutely not, you haven’t even touched your tea and it’s pouring outside.” Her gaze was steely, for a moment it reminded him so strongly of Makoto his heart squeezed painfully. How pathetic he must be, missing his friends this intensely after only a few hours. _Shit._

 

“Besides,” the girl continued, looking down at her cup and stirring peacefully once more. “I can’t on good conscience let you head back out in that dreadful weather without at least knowing you have somewhere to stay.”

 

Ryuji shook his head, protesting weakly. “You don’t even know me, I-I could be anyone, I could be a-" his voice closed off, tightening painfully. "A bad person. You're real nice but this is-”

 

“You’re wearing U.A. issued uniform pants, clearly you’re at least aspiring to be a hero of some kind. I find that more than enough reason to be confident you’re not about to rob some small flower shop.”

 

Ryuji’s throat felt like acid, a dark churning sludge settling in his gut, mind flashing back to a glinting smile and tiles and dark curly hair. His leg twinged again, his hands tingled. “If you knew half as much as I did, you’d know that doesn’t mean anything.”

 

Her lips flattened at him, a deeply unimpressed expression that warred with the spark of recognition in the air. “Ah,” she said, simply. “Excuse me for a moment.”

 

Ryuji dropped his head into his hands as soon as she left eyesight, exhaustion pulling at him a hundred different directions. He should just leave, really, while she was gone. Let her forget about him before anyone else got tangled up in this bullshit. She’d see his face on the news probably, later. When he got expelled with everyone else, _shit, dammit, hell, shit._

 

Maybe he was just selfish, somewhere deep down, some twisted part of him was waiting for someone to hug him and tell him he was trying and that it was enough and that he was okay. Maybe he wanted to stay so she could find out how awful he was, she was probably looking him up right now, his dad had said it himself hadn’t he? Ryuji’s face was everywhere, he was noticeable, she probably had found all the articles about him attacking the number one hero, about how he won the sports festival and then tore everything down around him. Maybe he wanted her to come back and look at him with disgust and kick him out. Maybe then he’d feel justified in being so stupidly pathetic and wallowing. He could find a nice mud puddle, bury himself in it, become the local mud goblin, work out some kind of career option from there. Or maybe he'd just lie down on the pavement in some alley and wait for the rain to melt him into pathetic wallowing sludge. He'd deserve it. 

 

He could hear her talking to someone, maybe it was the police. _Whatever,_ Ryuji couldn’t find it in himself to move anyways. Maybe it was time he stopped running and just, owned up to everything. Stopped pretending it was anyone else’s fault other than his own. He was just, tired.

 

The few good things he'd found wouldn't ever look at him the same, and he'd just run away. Cowardly down to the bone, but the idea of seeing their disgust was. He sighed, shaky and watery.  

 

The girl walked back into the room, her face carefully blank. The emotions around her fading to a grey buzz the way Shiho always seemed to mask herself with. His chest clenched again at the thought, he hadn’t even visited Shiho since she woke up, had he. He really was a coward. After everything she'd been through, everything she'd tried to do for him. Mud goblin sounded too good for him, honestly. 

 

“Your tea should be ready,” she clapped her hands together, “do you take sugar with yours?”

 

Ryuji stared down at the floor. “Why are you pretending you didn’t just figure out who I am.” No point in playing nice he figured. _Whatever._

To her credit the girl didn’t so much as falter. “If you’re referring to the fact that I remembered seeing your face in the news reports regarding a sports festival, I don’t find that particularly relevant to my previous questions.”

 

Ryuji sighed, the hard way then. “And what if I was referrin’ to the other stuff?”

 

She fell silent, he could hear her pouring a cup of tea, the grey around her fizzled blue for a moment, poprocks against his fingers.

 

“You know,” she said, voice blank and grey. “I myself often idealized heroes as a kid. Not for their talents or accomplishments, but because they weren’t afraid. I realize now they are all likely terrified almost constantly,” she chuckled to herself. “What I find admirable, however, is their ability to choose. To decide to be truly brave, despite what everyone else thinks or says.”

 

Ryuji didn’t have the energy to read between the lines, her grey aura was irritating him and he was, well. He was a lot of things, probably. Mostly made up of nothings now. “Just… get to the point? Please? So I can go?”

 

She sighed, and Ryuji almost felt bad for her again. “My point, is that if you wish for others to avoid making assumptions about you, perhaps you should consider avoiding assumptions about others.” She huffed, Ryuji could practically see the way she tilted her nose in the air with indignation even as he buried his face deeper into his hands.

 

“ _My point,_ is that not just anyone would fight for morality’s sake. My point is that you, Sakamoto-kun, have more people in your corner than you may realize.”

 

He blinked at that, shifting to stare up at the girl through his fingers.

 

Exasperation broke through her steady grey field. “I know, as I’m sure many do, that not every hero is worth their title. Affluence leads the greedy towards some questionable decisions, I quite find those who’d risk their own reputations to do the right thing far better company than most. Let’s say… those who are willing to change other’s hearts, so to speak.”

 

Ryuji wasn't good at reading between the lines, but this was all bold text. Neon flashing colours. He blinked. 

 

“Are,” Ryuji’s throat was thick with an unnamable emotion. “Are you a." His voice dropped to a whisper, it seemed to echo far too loudly in the little shop, still.  "Phantom-You-Know-What?”

 

The girl looked away from him, stirring her tea maybe a little too aggressively. “We have a. Mutual acquaintance.” Her shoulders were a little stiff, Ryuji didn’t possess enough social skills in his entire body to parse whatever that was supposed to mean. He felt, weak, abruptly. Like he’d been running on fumes and finally given out. Not quite relief tickled the aches in his bones.

 

“I messed up,” he whispered. “They’re all gunna get expelled, and it’s my fault.”

 

She hummed in response, not quite sympathetically. “What do you suppose you’re going to do about that, then?”

 

Ryuji shrugged, squeezing his eyes shut against another wave of heat. “I can’t do anything. My quirk, it's no good yanno?." He curled his shoulders inwards, good leg tapping against the floorboards anxiously. "I dunno why I thought I could be better than I am, I'm pretty stupid though. They’ll probably figure it out cause they’re yanno, them. Should just let me get expelled.”

 

“Oh, come now. That self-depreciating talk is really over and done. What are you going to do about this, Sakamoto-kun? Let your friends worry about you _and_ their futures? That seems rather horrible.”

 

A spark of irritation coursed through him, “Yeah, well, in case you weren’t listening, I am pretty effin’ horrible, thanks.”

 

He could physically hear her eye roll. “Ah, so you’re content to hide behind that excuse, then? You know, there’s no way to make yourself feel so terrible that it makes anything better. If you want to push everyone away and avoid owning up to your mistakes, by all means, continue wallowing in self pity. Nothing will change that way, though. Otherwise, I’d suggest thinking about what your next step forwards would be, and starting with that.”

 

Ryuji stared. Blinked hard.

 

“Damn.”

 

“I have been told being blunt is sometimes the most effective tool.”

 

Ryuji blinked again. Her cheeks seemed faintly pinker, a flourish of mild embarrassment working its way underneath the grey. 

 

“I....don’t know where to start,” he protested, weakly again. “I… I hurt my friend, by accident? But, I’m worried it wasn’t an accident, that. That it’s like, part of me. And I wish it wasn’t.”

 

Her cold gaze shifted, softened. “I’m sure your friend will forgive you.”

 

Ryuji clenched a fist and released it, his bad leg twitched. “I’m. I think I’m scared?”

 

“Of what?” She tilted her head.

 

 _That he will forgive me,_ he thought. _Of trying and. And it still not being enough. A hundred different things, the way his eyes looked when I lost control. That I don't deserve any of them. That they'll realize I'm just a screw up and leave me behind. Of being alone again. Of not being alone, and needing to figure out how to be better. I'm scared of having to get up every day and it always being like this._

 

 _"_ I don't know if I can be what he thinks I am," he said, voice unbearably small. 

 

Her lips twitched upwards, a softness rounding out the steel for a moment. "Ryuji," her hand touched his knee, warm and solid. Grounding, and he hissed a breath inwards involuntarily as the sincerity in her voice hit him, "you already are."

 

The jingle of the bells above the door interrupted his thoughts. Right, they were in a store, he was a customer. She had a _job._  His ears heated up with vague embarrassment at the thought of some random person catching them in such a raw moment. Gross. The auburn haired girl patted her legs like she were straightening out invisible wrinkles and stood. “Well, that would be my cue. Oh, Sakamoto-kun? Make sure you tell them, please? My shop is always open, but I do like my tea rather, _scalding hot,_ you know." 

 

Ryuji gulped. "Yes ma'am." He had no idea what she was talking about. Yet, he was intimidated _and_ sweating. _Huh._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAH sorry for the delay here wow, can't believe I promised every Friday and immediately hecked that up. Good news is that I finished my thesis presentation and the rest of this semester is basically just a lot of editing and writing anyways, so I got no excuses for procrastinating. Sorry this chapter is a lil on the short side, I was going to extend it but it's a lot of yanno, Hard To Swallow Pills, and I felt like it needed it's own chapter. Anyways, thanks as always for your continued encouragement and amazingly kind comments!! If you wanna talk about this fic or other stuff I'm over on twitter @ either jimkirkisajerk or clankclunk ;^)


	8. Sending good vibes your way, they are coming. There is nothing you can do to stop them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA: the most threatening way to be cheered up. 
> 
> AKA AKA: Ryuji gets his groove back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter right here is what I based this entire AU around so, hopefully you guys enjoy!  
> In other news I just graduated from my Undergrad degree, and while that's super exciting, I also have far too much free time on my hands. Hm.

Ryuji wasn't sure what he'd been expecting as the Flower Shop Girl walked swiftly off, awkward eye contact with a business man maybe. Or a boyfriend desperately seeking flowers for his girlfriend as a last minute apology, a troop of somber people in suits collecting flowers for an ill relative, or- Huh. Maybe he was getting a little too negative, actually. _Wow._

Either way, as he wrapped himself further in the blanket to hopefully blend into the flower themed couch behind him and convince whatever customer was walking in to just pretend he was part of the furniture, he wasn't prepared for the door to open. 

 

“Ryuji!” A familiar voice met his ears, Ryuji startled, slowly like an old computer whirring to life half heartedly. He blinked, and blinked again as he watched Akira stumble through the door, all wide eyes and palpable concern and fear all at once. Makoto, Ann, Yusuke, burst through moments later. The tiny flower shop was abruptly incredibly crowded, Ryuji felt almost suffocated, wrapped up like a toddler in blankets feeling sorry for himself. Akira glanced around the small shop, eyes falling on Ryuji's snivelling pathetic self and his shoulders slumped. Relief bloomed carefully around him, sunlight breaking over the horizon, spotted with tentative hope. Mostly overclouded with a whole lot of worry, Ryuji winced. 

 

“I… guys, you-” he opened and closed his mouth, licking his dry lips trying to come up with anything at all to process the intensity of the wave of comfort rippling across the still greyness he’d fallen into.

 

"Thank god you're okay," Ann sighed behind him, and Ryuji felt a heat collect behind his eyes forcefully at the red rimming her bright eyes. He hated how useless he'd become then, unable to process his own fuck ups without his emotions becoming a weapon. He kept hurting them, by staying, now by leaving. 

 

Akira’s hands weren’t bandaged up, shockingly. Only a few bandaids fell colourfully across his exposed skin, no mottled red or pinks to wink viciously back at him. Ryuji abruptly remembered Morgana’s healing quirk, and felt even worse somehow knowing Morgana would know about how bad it had been. His quirk couldn't even fix all of it, _hell._

 

“How’d you find me?” He felt his lips wobble, for some stupid reason, and rubbed his palms aggressively against his eyes. The friendly and caring relief in the small room was overwhelming, and completely entirely undeserved. Makoto glanced uncomfortably over at the auburn haired girl, who pointedly was looking at her mostly empty tea cup by the counter. Both of their ears were pink.

 

“Ah, Haru called me,” she shrugged, Makoto didn’t shrug. _Haru,_ Ryuji glanced over at the girl slowly, she had her back to the rest of them, purposefully. “We were so worried, Akira said you bolted and you’ve been out for hours, and this weather! What were you _thinking_?”

 

Ryuji was a drowning fish in the sahara desert, he gaped blankly. “I uh. Wasn't, really.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, he’s soaked!” Ann immediately stepped forwards and started fussing, they were all so. _Warm,_ pulsing oranges and pinks. But Ann’s bouncy pigtails were heavy, beyond wet all the way past drenched.

 

“Ah, it appears my phone has been waterlogged. Would anyone else be able to let Morgana know we found him?” Yusuke flipped a soggy strand of hair out of his eyes.

 

“Got it. I'll pass it on to Futaba, too so she can tell Boss to get out of the rain.” Makoto nodded.

 

“You, I. Why would.” Ryuji’s brain was broken. Or would be, soon. He'd figured they'd be looking for him, probably out of guilt but. Morgana too? _Boss?_

 

“Why did you run, Ryuji?” Ryuji tensed, eyes instinctively shooting down, pulling the blanket up higher so he wouldn’t have to see the curling disappointment like thick smoke. Except there wasn’t any. Except Akira just sounded, sad.

 

“I hurt you,” it should have been obvious, they sky is blue, Ryuji’s a screw up. Of course he’d ran, he was a coward. Of course they were better off without him. The kind girl’s- _Haru’s_ \- words rang in his head. There’s no way to make yourself feel so terrible that it makes anything better. Think of what your next step forwards should be and start with that. What if there weren't any steps? What if he deserved to just, feel bad. His leg twinged again, angrily and bone deep. He couldn't help the hiss that pulled from his lips, or the instinctive way he curled around it. 

 

“Ryuji, your leg.” Akira was crouching down in front of him suddenly, expression twisting. “You aren’t supposed to overwork it, where are your pain meds? How bad is it?”

 

"I brought them!" Ann pushed a familiar orange bottle forwards, "his Mom said he'd need two, probably. Haru, could you grab some water please?"

 

Ryuji gulped, then wobbled. His eyes burned. “Akira,” he tried to be firm, tried to be steel and ice like Akira always could. “Ann. Stop, okay? Just....” His throat closed up, a sob wrenching somewhere around his heart. “I hurt you.”

 

“It appears to me, you’ve hurt yourself more than anyone,” Yusuke sniffed, and Ryuji just stared owlishly up at him, then at Akira, his bare hands reaching to clasp Ryuji’s shaking ones. He pried them slowly from the blanket, letting them latch onto his own.

 

“Ryuji, I’m fine.” Ryuji shook his head.

 

“It doesn’t matter if you-if you’re. I hurt you!” A tear squeezed out as he frowned, pleaded. This was so stupid, _why_ were they _here._

 

After everything, after believing and finding ground and digging his way back up, and falling again. After all the good and trust and kindness that they’d all given him, this was what it amounted to. This was what he was, his father’s son. He was disgusted, viscerally and wholly nauseated. He wanted to claw at himself to dig out the part of him that was so messed up that it could turn on the only good things he had like this, the part of him that wanted to break so much and revel in it so badly that it couldn’t stay within him. The part of him that was so happy wallowing and being self-depreciating and all those other five dollar words Haru had stabbed through his core.

 

Part of him, regardless of the cringing residual panic still coagulating his blood- a thick ball and chain around his throat that pulled him in, a black hole that had been dragging him along his whole life, stealing all the snippets of light he’d managed to scrape together- part of him wanted to go back to the dingy nowhere bar and just sprawl on the bar seat and drink it all away. Wanted to face the music and stop trying and do whatever it was that his broken twisted bloodline seemed to beg of him. Break some doorways, bust some hinges, let all of the static charge free and just be done with it.

 

“I told you, didn't I? Not going anywhere.” Akira’s thumb brushed along his jaw, Ryuji was staring, begging with each hitch of his breath. “You can’t run away, Ryuji. It’s hard and it’s scary but if you run away you let your past define who you are now, and we all know you’re braver than that.” Ryuji shook his head again, exhausted, wondering how he kept finding himself here. Twisted up with bitter thoughts and desperation and walls he clawed together just to stop everything from falling apart. Akira had too much faith in him, always saw something that Ryuji wasn't sure even existed and tried to make it bigger and brighter in him anyway. But it was, it was so scary. Running was just easier. Always had been, really. 

 

“Do you?” His voice choked on a hiccup of breath, the dark angry swirl in him growing larger. “I. I’m scared, dammit I’m.” _I’m weak,_ he thought desperately, _I don't want to keep trying,_ but oh. Ann wasn’t wearing gloves, her hands were on his shoulders, and _oh_ , he’d said the words out loud, hadn't he? He could see the weight of them crack at his friends calm facade, the way Makoto’s hitched breath echoed slightly in the sudden silence. Ann inhaled sharply, steel grey sliding in behind her warm blue red kindness. There he went again, hurting people with his stupid, selfish feelings. _Dammit._

 

“You’re purposefully focusing on the negatives, you know. There’s nothing wrong with being scared.” Makoto was suddenly beside him too, her hands grasped both of his limp ones and squeezed. “You made it to U.A. because you were talented and because you were brave. The Ryuji I know doesn’t let anyone’s expectations of him hold him back.”

 

The words fell in him, weights in an open ocean. “What if you’re wrong? Maybe you only know the Ryuji from kindergarten, maybe that’s not who I am anymore.” Ryuji knew he was being pathetic, knew he should stop. Leave, think this all over, stop talking so much. “Maybe, maybe I don’t know me either.” The temptation to bury his face in his hands was so strong, to shut them all out again. It was harder to see their emotions through the murkiness of his own anyways, just worry and all this damned love that sat too thick against his heart. It would be so, so easy just to give up, but he couldn't, he was too scared to let go and listen to what they were telling him. Haru had said he’d be letting it keep going if he didn't, that this awful stickiness and guilt and fear would just. Stay forever. That was worse, maybe. He didn’t know. It all seemed terrible.

 

He didn't even know at this point what he was saying out loud and what was just piled so high in his chest it seemed to cancel every other sound out. Whatever, maybe they'd stop pushing if they heard how whiny he was anyway. 

 

“You need to decide,” Yusuke chimed in, his voice was closer now too, low and somber. “whether you allow this self fulfilling prophecy to come true or if you pick the more rocky path towards the summit. We can't make the choice for you, I only wonder. Why are you so intent on expecting the worst?”

 

“Because I’m dangerous!” Ryuji growled, frustrated at everything and nothing at all. They kept going around in circles. How many times would they be sitting here, holding his hands and saying things that couldn’t possibly apply to him, how many times would he just let them. “Because if I let myself feel ‘effin anything I’ll blow up half the street, like a villain would! Because if I get too upset I’ll lash out and hurt you, oh wait. That already happened!”

 

“Because you have a choice,” Ann said, he hand tilting his chin upwards, and her eyes shining in the overhead lights in a way that made his words stop. “Because right now you can decide to try or decide to give up, but only one of those choices has a happy ending. Because it won’t be easy, none of it will, but you’re not alone so long as you keep trying. Because that’s what you taught me when we were kids when you walked right up to me and held my hand, and you loudly told everyone you were my friend.” Ann’s eyes were fire, she didn’t falter but her voice was thick with so much; her hand squeezed. “I wasn’t wearing gloves, and you didn’t think a single bad thing. You didn’t ever, y-you just rambled on about juice boxes and-” her voice hitched, warbled. “And you were always so stupidly honest. Because you’ve been dealt a shitty, shitty hand so many times, but so have lots of people and you can help those people, Ryuji! You have helped those people!”

 

Ryuji pulled his shoulders uptight, a trapped wild feeling unfurling in his ribs. “I haven’t helped anyone! That’s the whole problem! Just let me go, okay! I’ll- I’ll go somewhere an- and lock myself up and you won’t ever have to worry about it because I won’t let myself be like him but I can’t stop it- don’t you guys get that? I can’t help anyone!”

 

Akira let go of him, lips pressed tight and tilted downwards. “You helped me.”

 

Ryuji blinked, confusion winning over frantic anger. In what world could Ryuji, the town disaster, have helped someone as smooth and clearly talented and Good. "Yeah, right," he pulled his head away from Ann's searching gaze and back to the floor. Akira shuffled, a long sigh, and a wisp of melancholy swept past him. Ryuji glanced up carefully out of the corner of his eye. 

 

Akira turned his head, looking down the long row of empty shelves, past the widow and the streets packed with turned out window lights; thunder rumbled above them. “Did you know I grew up here? Just across the train tracks, before I moved. Went to an elementary school around there, too.” Akira shrugged, Ryuji didn’t care about this, maybe some other time but- “For a long time I was scared,” Akira’s eyes flashed gold, Ryuji’s words died in his throat, rain splattered across the windows in angry ribbons. “I was too scared to use my quirk, because of what it could do. What _I_ could do. People started assuming I was quirkless. I thought it was bad, and I didn't want to risk hurting anyone. What I could do... ”

 

Ryuji couldn’t speak, he didn’t understand where this was going but. He did, part of him really, really did. His stomach lurched. Akira took his glasses off, staring down at them for a moment as rain fell louder, a curtain drawing out the real world, Ryuji felt dreamy, distant, but hyper aware. The windows down the street blurred out, flickered away like eyes shuttered just in this moment.

 

“I used to get bullied. It’s why I moved, actually.”

 

“Akira-” Makoto’s sadness was palpable, Ryuji’s heart lurched and he didn’t know why.

 

Akira pushed forward. “There was one day, I was at the park. I’d heard some boys talking, I was hiding around a corner then. Nobody ever saw me anyways, but I liked hiding. Made me feel like I could control how invisible I was.” he laughed, humour nowhere near his voice. “They were going to beat me up, for being quirkless I guess. Because their parents had said it was wrong, or they wanted to feel stronger. I never figured out why. They were dumb mean kids but, I was scared. They found me after lunch, and I’d never been so scared before and I almost…” He shook his head, still looking down at his glasses. “I don’t know what I almost did. But, the strangest thing happened. I didn’t have to find out,” He looked up then, Ryuji’s lips parted and his stomach twisted again. “Some boy charged over, all bleached hair and angry eyebrows, and he stopped them for me. Bravest thing I’d ever seen. I remember, I was sitting on the ground, my palms stinging and feeling all panicky and shaken, and this boy just reached a hand out and asked me if I could trust him, just for a moment.” Ryuji…. He remembered that, suddenly. He remembered thinking he’d whisk this tiny kid off somewhere, ‘cause he was fast. He could get the kid to a nurse, or to a teacher, but he didn’t want to scare him more, because he was all big watery eyes and round shoulders and Ryuji never wanted to scare anyone.

 

“D-did you?” Ryuji found himself asking.

 

Akira stared at him, searching, a wobbly smile pulling at his lips. Ryuji hadn’t noticed, but Akira looked shaken. Big watery eyes and hunched rounded shoulders and the pink stretched bubbling of his palms. “You know, before that boy came along, I’d started to wonder. I thought, maybe I was just going to be a villain, even if I didn’t want to. Controlling people’s pretty scary, pretty evil, right? Every hero I’d ever met said so. But then, this boy. He’d just helped me, it didn’t matter if he knew anything about me, he thought I was worth helping and god, he was the coolest kid I’d ever seen. He made me want to believe in heroes again, believe in myself again.”

 

Ryuji couldn’t take his eyes off of Akira, couldn’t move. Akira’s eyes melted, softened and _oh,_ there was the rush of affection, the sadness, Ann’s worry and the intensity of how much she cared just off to the side. All of it snapped back into place like it had been there all along, because, it had. The love and care was real, less a thick unwanted thing then, and more... how it should be. He felt it pooling high in his own throat too.

 

“Ryuji, you have always, from the moment I met you that day on the park, been my hero.”

 

Akira turned his palms out wide, Ryuji flinched at the way Akira’s wounds stretched and pulled. Akira’s face didn’t so much as shift. “This? This changes nothing. If anything, I think you held back. Even while having a panic attack _you held back_.” Ryuji wanted to disagree, to say that it had just been a thing- molten and packed in too tight- and he’d let it out without meaning to, but… He’d seen the bathroom after the first time. The hallway after the test. The deep scored marks that sizzled with ash and burrowed thickly enough into the walls he could see light from the other side creeping in. Akira should be dead but, he wasn’t. Just singed maybe. Still hurt but. Very much not dead.

 

“We trust you, Ryuji.” Yusuke spoke up softly. For the first time, Ryuji wondered if they were worried _for_ him rather than of him, with all their glances and soft greys. Maybe they’d been trying to help him. Something like a sob worked through his spine, slowly and cascading in a waterfall. He was bone weary, his heart a giant bruise in his chest, he wondered if he’d ever figure out how to stop missing all the obvious things directly in front of him. 

 

“Do you trust us?” Yusuke knelt down beside Ann, Makoto hovered beside him. And, just like last time. Any time, he realized. He couldn’t find it in him to hesitate.

 

His vision blurred outwards and he choked on the pure, unfiltered warmth around him. Not scorching the way his dad’s anger had been, warming like a thick blanket on a winter day. He dug his fists into his eyes one last time. Fake angrily he grumbled out a watery “of course I do, dammit.” And thought, for the second time in so many months, as Akira’s arm wound across his shoulders, if it was possible to never stop falling. The feeling in his throat burst over, and for once, he wasn't afraid. 

 

 

 

 

Haru made tea for them all the second time, her and Makoto sat on opposite sides of the couch with tense shoulders and didn’t make eye contact. Both of their ears were pink. Ryuji got a wallop of longing for a solid ten seconds before he adamantly refused to look their way either. Sometimes people needed to figure their own shit out on their own time, it felt like reading diaries left out on kitchen tables. He knew a little too much about being oblivious anyways. His gaze flicked over to Akira's instinctively, felt his own ears turn just a little bit pink too. 

 

But, that was a thought for another day. One with less teary group hugs and raw wounds. He wanted.... He wanted. But, another day. 

 

 

Akira decided Ryuji needed a day off, as they all sipped warm tea and tried to remember how to feel their fingers. Ann squeezed her pigtails and linked their pinkies together, Akira’s eyes hovered like he’d disappear if he dared to blink. Ryuji's heart was several old worn sweaters and tea cups, his chest was a campfire on a cold night. He leaned a little closer to Akira and bumped their shoulders together. 

 

"Thanks," he whispered. 

 

Akira's eyes were searchlights, bright and serious.

 

Ryuji looked at his calendar, the looming deadline in front of them, and decided he was done running.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I changed a relationship tag. That's a new development because yanno, it felt right? I wasn't going to explore anything beyond a platonic maybe one sided pining thing, but you know when a story kind of naturally moves into something stronger? Yeah.


	9. That Moment When the Video Game Autosaves For Seemingly No Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA the end starts here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW okay first of all, I am so sorry this took so long. I forgot con season approacheth and I'm doing an artist alley for the first time ever so, uh, trying to frantically come up with print designs was an Experience. Thank you all for your patience with me on this! We're reaching the end of the beginning of the end more or less. I have a bunch of things planned for after this arc- I was going to make a second story for that but MEH might as well put them all in one and save the 'series' for any random spin offs I have saved in my drives elsewhere. Anyways, love all of y'all and your kind comments and support! Hope you're having a fantastic week!

 

Yusuke made him buy ramen, the next day. He sat across from Ryuji with a strangely blank expression and deep searching eyes, radiating a steady contemplation. Ryuji slurped his noodles loudly and a little uncomfortably until Yusuke finally reached over and grabbed his shoulder. "You aren't alone, not in any of this you know." Ryuji didn't know what to say to that, he laughed weakly and nodded. The dark almost concern in Yusuke's steady gaze left him feeling off kilter, flustered and confused. 

Futaba played video games with him all night when they were both restlessly too aware. She cracked jokes about the games dialogue, about the other rando's they teamed up with, but strangely, for once, kept silent about Ryuji's awful strategic skills. "Nice final blow combo," she'd said in a forcefully cheerful voice over their headsets. Ryuji knew perfectly well he hadn't actually utilized any sort of combo at all, seeing as all he ever did was mash buttons aggressively.

"Thanks gremlin, not too bad yourself."

Makoto met him at the school gates and offered to help him with his math homework- unheard of, usually, Makoto being adamant about ‘hard work’ and all. "Just this once," she said, not meeting his eyes. Makoto wasn't so good at the careful nothing everyone else had been practicing. She flashed little morse code messages, too short for Ryuji to actually figure out but. Concerning, nonetheless. He wondered if he should feel hurt, that they were all walking around him on eggshells, like he'd freak out again at the smallest nudge. Mostly he just felt nervous. 

 

Ryuji kept finding his eyes trailing towards the clock on the wall and his mind kept spinning around their rushed plans, Friday approached little by little in seconds and moments. His leg twinged no matter how he stretched it. Kamoshida was strangely absent in the halls, practices were cancelled, and whispers crescendo'd in peaks and valleys throughout the halls. Even Kawakami seemed frazzled somehow, brows furrowed just slightly. Unsure caution as bright as her yellow sweater. Even if everyone else couldn't see the sickly coloured waves of anxiety and confusion around them, the students seemed to feel it. The general track classes had never buzzed before, usually the tired apathetic eyes of his classmates were a disinterested glaze around him. Everything felt electrified by Kamoshida's announcement. Every step was another chance for the final shoe to drop. 

 

His teammates- friends, he had to remind himself, they'd said they were friends- were all trying to watch out for him in their own ways, he noticed. And each other. They were all crumbling with nerves, but Ryuji had read something about bones, once. When he’d been optimistic, somewhere after the first orange cast and sticky juice box framed lunches; bones under stress got stronger, sometimes. Maybe they needed the stress to be stronger.

 

Maybe Ryuji did too. Maybe he'd spent enough time waiting for the bad thing to happen, maybe he'd always been waiting for that other shoe to smack him on the back of the head from out of nowhere. Maybe he'd needed to not be on his own, before. 

 

“Hey, Ryuji?” He blinked up from his phone, he’d been debating for ten minutes about whether to ask Akira to hang out, torn between knowing the guy was probably busy with a hundred other things and his general overwhelming anxiety. Akira stood in front of him, hands in his pockets, hair just as messily perfect as always, fond almost shy smile on his lips. Ryuji’s skin prickled hot and cold all at once.

 

“Oh! Hey man, I wasn’t sure if you were busy…” He scratched his neck, angry suddenly at the way his pulse was jumping all over. Probably the nerves talking, _probably._

 

Akira huffed a laugh. “I am,” he tilted his head, Ryuji couldn’t help the way his gut dropped in disappointment. “With you, of course. Thursday’s are practice days, right?”

 

“You, uh,” God, why was his brain mush suddenly, it was just Akira. It wasn’t like the afternoon light was trailing along his face in a way that made the gold flecks in his dark eyes stand out. Or that Ryuji was starting to realize that particular smile had really only ever been directed at him. His chest hurt in a strange way that was almost nice.  He swallowed. “You still wanna?” That unspoken jolt of unfiltered pink that had coagulated around his heart the other day was becoming harder to swallow around. There was a rush of words in his chest, above his heart, he had to consciously fight back. There wasn't time for that, anyways. Not now. And Akira probably wouldn't feel the same way anyways. 

 

Akira smiled with a careless sort of shrug Ryuji took as an ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

 

It wasn’t like Akira was always exactly where Ryuji needed him, or that Ryuji was still working on believing that maybe he deserved it a little. Except for the glaring way Akira always was. Except for the fact Akira had caught his spiralling fuck-up of a mess since day one and helped him find his feet, and kept catching him over and over. Ryuji shook his head, grinning sideways at Akira as he flung an arm carelessly around his shoulders.

 

Ryuji didn’t feel nerves from Akira, not surprisingly, but there was. Something else there. Ryuji was really not great at reading between the lines, frustratingly. It felt a little warm though, and maybe he was still a little weak or the nerves were a little too strong, because he leaned a little more into Akira's side as they walked. He exaggerated a yawn as they ambled out of the doors to their usual spot, the fall weather bit at Ryuji’s cheeks.

 

“Man, am I ever gunna be glad when this is all over, yanno?” He tossed a wink over at Akira, expecting maybe a smirk back, or a shrug. “You know? Not have to worry about any of this. Hey, do you think they’d let me back into the hero track? I mean, we’ll probably get on the news again right? Phew, for once, some actual good publicity. My mom’ll be able to relax for once.” He deflated almost immediately after, drawing his arm back to shove his hands into his pockets. “Ah, nah actually, that’s probably kind of a long shot, huh? Not sure I’d even really wanna go back anyways. But whatever, after Friday things’ll be different anyways. Better. Can't say I'm gunna like seeing my grumpy school year photo plastered on every news site though.”  Akira stopped mid step, shoulders tensing for a moment.

 

“H-hey,” Ryuji turned in surprise. “Did I say somethin’ dumb…?”

 

Akira’s eyes were hidden behind his mop of hair, Ryuji felt cold all over. Like he was forgetting something, maybe. Or had just remembered something worse. “Akira?”

 

The dark haired boy shook himself, letting out a shuddery breath. “Sorry, I just… remembered an essay I haven’t started.”

 

Ryuji blinked. “You? Forgetting homework? Sheesh, I really am a bad influence, huh? Guess we better skip practicing then, Makoto's real serious about this 'good student' thing.”

 

Akira smiled, his eyes weren’t in it. The sun had passed behind the clouds out the window, Ryuji shivered, but forced himself to let it go.

 

“Sorry, “ Akira shrugged, Ryuji laughed it off too. Akira would tell him whatever was wrong, _right?_ Eventually, probably. For the moment, it was enough to just pretend everything wasn’t going to be torn to pieces with the next rise of the sun.

 

Ryuji’s chest squeezed again, he couldn’t help but feel like there was something else he was missing in the way Akira’s shoulders sloped downwards for the rest of their short walk. Or in the almost desperate buzz as Akira looped an arm around him for a hug as they split apart for the trains. There was a second, right before the train doors closed, he thought maybe Akira wanted to tell him something. He was sure of it in fact. Akira’s lips parted and his eyes looked trapped, wild, flashing gold and almost red. But the clock ticked forwards and with a blink Akira’s face fell as neutrally friendly as ever, and the doors swished inwards before Ryuji could call his name.

 

He sent Akira a goofy video link later, and then a string of emojis, and then a good night message just in case. Akira didn't reply. 

 

 

 

 

Ryuji slept that night in fits, moments of sleep laced with smirking faces staring downwards, with reaching hands, and a door hanging on a broken hinge waving open in the background. He woke up far too early, enough to see the sky turn red and orange like fire smouldering on the edges of clouds. Enough to see his mom, packing her lunch before work, instinctively making Ryuji’s also. His heart lurched and wavered, and his mother blinked up at him.

 

“Ryu? What are you doing up so early?” He could have winced with the realization that he hadn’t seen his mother for a few days, that he hadn't helped with groceries or made her supper in longer since. He did wince when he caught the way she was still only roiling with concern instead of the rightful anger he expected. She deserved better, he knew. 

 

“I uh, got a big test today,” he hated lying, laughing almost sadly at the immediate trust in her eyes. She really, really deserved better, and he deserved far less. But, he hoped he would earn it, eventually. When he was forty maybe. He shrugged, moving around the kitchen to grab the assortment of food in front of her, gently moving her out of the way so he could take over. “Couldn’t sleep I guess.”

 

His mother tutted, her warm hands cupped his cheek. The room was ablaze in love and a worry that went too deep, too strong to just be about one nights missed sleep. “Ryu, my sweet boy, you need to get your beauty sleep. This school is going to tire you right out. Let me pack you something extra, for good luck on your test.”

 

Her words came out as a question, uncertain. His heart was in his throat, he laughed again, low and warbled. “Nah, mom, let me do this. You have a long day today. I’ve been studying, you know Makoto, right?”

 

Her thumb swiped at his cheek and she dropped her hand. Ryuji missed it immediately. “The nice girl you were talking about? The smart one?”

 

“Yeah that’s the one. She’s been helpin’ me study, so.” Ryuji smiled, he packed her food up neat and tidy, carefully.

 

His mother faked a dramatic gasp. “You studied? You can’t be my son, where is the real Ryu? I have never known Ryu to ever pick up a textbook. Studying? What's next? Doing the dishes?” Ryuji snorted, nudging her playfully with a drawn out ‘Moooooom’.

 

He finished tying up her food in her bright polka dot lunch bag and passed it to her. His smile faltered for a moment, laughter dying in the air around them. Ryuji’s mother tilted his chin in her hands, he noticed them trembling, slightly. The ache that fizzled on his knuckles like he’d held them too close to an open flame. “Ryu…” she said, after a long moment.

 

“You know I…. I love you, right mom?” He managed to mumble around the knot building in his throat. “I. I just want you to be, yanno, happy, I-”

 

“Ryu,” she was almost scolding, affronted, softer though. “I have the most thoughtful son in the world, I'm happy as long as you are.”

 

Ryuji forced himself to smile, even past the burning tracks on his cheeks. “I love you, ma.” He said again, just to be sure. Her brows slanted downwards at the sight, lips parting.

 

“What’s wrong, Ryuji?” Her heartbreak was purples and violet splashed across the kitchen doors. Ryuji hugged her, suddenly unable to do anything else. “Is it the boys at school again? Has someone hurt you? Ryu, what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothin’ ma, it’s gunna be okay. I-I promise, everything’s okay.” He muttered it into her hair, feeling her trembling in his arms and kicking himself every moment. He wiped his eyes and leaned back, a weakly playful grin on his cheeks. “I’m just bein’ a baby. Same as always. Missin’ your cooking, you know!”

 

His mother eyes him for a long moment, then seemed to let out all of her tense angles. She waggled a finger in his face. “My cooking! You should be making your own meals,” she scoffed, “something other than noodles!”

 

Ryuji slumped, bashfully rubbing his neck. “Aw, ma you know I’m a terrible chef.”

 

“Wouldn’t be so terrible if you followed the recipe! Always have to do something wild and different, so stubborn!” She shook her head, eyes twinkling blue and purple. Ryuji groaned and slowly made his own lunch, keeping his eyes on his food and a smile on his lips. She could probably see the staccato thump of his heartbeat anyways, she probably knew what today was without him saying anything. He hoped she caught the goodbye he wove between layers of love and regret as he hugged her and closed his eyes. Or the way he didn't regret anything at all. 

 

 

 

 

The funny thing with plans was that they never went entirely the way anyone expected. Especially not the genuinely important ones, especially not the well thought out ones with flow charts and diagrams and hours of hushed tones and flashing glances. Futaba called it Murphy’s Law, with a shrug, like everything going immeasurably catastrophically wrong was just sort of an ‘oops’. Ryuji shrugged too. If everything did go sideways it wasn’t like they’d have time for regrets anyways.

 

Makoto’s lips had tightened and she’d smacked a ruler down on the whiteboard with so much intensity Ryuji jumped in his seat. “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong,” Futaba shrugged again, knowing how much Makoto hated shrugging.

 

“Well then, we’ll just have to make sure nothing can go wrong, won’t we?”

 

Which was probably about as good as signing an official form guaranteeing something would go wrong. With a bunch of C average half delinquents and one full delinquents on a team, it wasn't like they were great at following rules or outlines anyways. The problem was, they hadn't anticipated not being the only unpredictably predictable ones on the playing field. Which, ironically, he figured they should have predicted. 

 

It started when Ryuji had snuck out of class and posted their dramatic statement, the best way to get Kamoshida out in public with the most number of eyes. Morgana had been confident, and as a future hero PR rep slash support track expert, nobody so much as tried to disagree. Yusuke wrote up the poster with so much intimidating artistry part of Ryuji’s anxiety had been centered around crinkling the edges with his sweaty hands, luckily that part went over smoothly enough, with Futaba conveniently blanking out any cameras in a five mile radius for the time being. _'The King!'_ It read, in gaudy sparkling letters. _'One can only sit on a throne for so long. Rebellions rise in kingdoms with unfit rulers, and those who hide in the shadows are bound to drown within them. The Phantom Thieves have their target.'_

 

A bit over dramatic for Ryuji's taste, and far too cryptic but definitely threatening and ominous. Definitely Yusuke. He was extremely aware of how grateful he was to be on a team with the weird art kid instead of against him. However, the letter worked well enough. Soon the whispers turned into full conversations, then to intercom announcements for the 'vandals' who left the 'concerning poetry' to come to the headmaster's office and apologize. So far so good. 

 

The trouble was in Kamoshida’s reaction. They’d anticipated anger, loud bellowing and paranoid stomping and wild accusations maybe. Ryuji had been mostly expecting him to bust down the classroom door and drag him out by his ear; he kept tapping his pen and anxiously checking the door, nearly jumping at every shadow passing by. Even though a message from him would have likely read something more along the lines of 'Hey Bastard, I'm coming for you,' Kamoshida always found Ryuji out. Always. Plus, he knew Ryuji was involved anyways. The jumping through hoops that Morgana insisted on seemed exhausting. 

 

But Kamoshida had been quiet, mostly. He’d heard an intercom announcement for Mishima to head to his study at one point, distantly, mostly feeling his heart seize in his chest at the sound of Kamoshida’s terse voice. Nothing else had so much as shifted out of place for the rest of the day. It made him more uneasy than Kamoshida losing it might have.

 

“He knows who we are, doesn’t he?” Ann asked during their impromptu rooftop meeting between classes. “Why is he not making a move?”

 

“Perhaps…” Makoto tapped her finger against her lip, eyebrows drawn tightly in thought. Her eyes sparked with something pointed as she glanced Akira's way. Ryuji groaned in frustration.

 

“God, I just want this over with. Why’s he gotta be such an ass about this. Where’s his grand announcement anyways? The whole school is waiting for some big speech of his, right?”

 

“He said it would be in the evening,” Akira shrugged.

 

“Probably wants a bigger press crowd, more ratings.” Morgana huffed, his tail twitching in anger. The whole air around all of them had been electric and charged with nerves. Ryuji wasn’t actually sure if there were any other students with empathy based quirks in any of their classes but he was positive it’d be a dead giveaway they were up to something. They were all precariously lurking over a cliff face, balancing on tenter hooks that screamed more than just test anxiety.

 

Ryuji sighed, hanging his head. “Guess we gotta keep waiting, huh?” Akira nodded, lifting his shoulders in a half sympathetic attempt. “I hate waiting,” Ryuji couldn’t help the whine in his voice, or the pout, but frowned at Akira’s chuckle.

 

“What? Come on man I’m dyin’ here!”

 

“Cute,” Akira hid his smirk behind his hand. Sans gloves, thanks to Ryuji, but it was weirdly better this way, somehow. Ryuji cleared his throat uncomfortably, his chest vibrating again. _Damn nerves_. Though, he’d never had nerves that made him feel oddly happy before. Typically anxious energy ping ponged between his veins like bouncy balls coated in acid. The last time he’d been nervous about anything like this, with all the waiting and build up, had been before they’d met his dad. But he’d sort of known what to expect then, at least he thought he had. Any of the times before that had been. Kamoshida. And, well, once he called your name after practice or in the announcements, all you knew was that it would be bad and it would be painful. That and not showing up would only make it worse next time.

 

Suddenly, Ryuji didn’t feel so happy.  “Hey, did either of you see Mishima after he got called down?”

 

Ann blinked, the slow growing melt of optimism into fear sent shivers up Ryuji’s spine.

 

“What’s the problem?” Morgana crossed his arms, Ryuji was almost positive he’d seen the guy with his arms crossed more than he could count. His arms were like semi-permanently crossed, like they were drawn back to resentful displeasure by magnets.

 

“Mishima’s the one that got Ryuji,” Akira offered, and of course he’d pieced it together already.

 

“Wait, when was this?”

 

Ryuji turned around, noting the way other kids were beginning to mill back towards the school in the yard.

 

“First thing this morning, right after the announcements,” Akira was also scanning the crowds now, hoping they could see Mishima’s slumped shoulders maybe. Or some kind of sign their anxious determination hadn’t been already uploaded to Kamoshida’s mainframe.

 

“Shit, ‘effin hell. How did we forget that?” Mishima worked for Kamoshida, Mishima could get into their heads. Mishima could be the difference between the element of surprise and a full blown cover.

 

“I don’t know!” Ann hissed, “but there’s nothing we can do, if Kamoshida knows we’re going to make a move before his announcement, we have no other choice but to stick with the plan.”

 

“He probably would have guessed already, anyways,” Akira always seemed so damn unruffled, usually it was calming, but Ryuji couldn’t help the frustrated sigh.

 

“Dammit, yeah you’re right.” The bell tolled outside, “Shit, okay well. Guess we should text the others.”

 

“Yeah, just. Stick to the plan, okay? Don’t freak out, it’ll be fine.” Ann squeezed his arm, her eyes sad in a frantic way, like she didn’t have time to really let herself feel anything. "Ryuji, were right with you, remember? It'll be okay." There was something there, in her words too. Something sharp, wrapped in unspoken words Ryuji wasn't smart enough to figure out. Something a little like an apology and a lot like an excuse. 

 

“Fine, yeah, okay. Shit.”

 

 

 

The first step back inside the school felt like entering into the final scene of a video game, where the tension is high but the developer keeps dragging out the final fight and building up the emotions. Akira and Ann headed off down the hallways, both with a forcibly tight smile and blank expression that they knew he could see right through. Ryuji had known the ball was going to drop all day, at some point. Futaba’s fatalistic half shrug and grin struck an echoing chord in him he was trying to force down and forget, but it bubbled to the surface anyways. He could almost remember a time he hadn’t been as pessimistic, somewhere between the counselors office and her pale silver hair, somewhere after his gap toothed smile and sticky hands and a blonde pig tailed girl that never met anyone's eyes, but held his hand under the tables.

 

He hated that he still doubted, just a little. Not his friends, finally. Not that they’d come through for him time and time again, although he didn’t understand why exactly. And he assumed Morgana at least would be a little reluctant about it. He doubted that he would be what they saw in him, even after all their kind words, it wasn’t so easy to rewrite a lifetimes worth of worst fear conversations and memories of crackled plaster he guessed.

 

It wasn’t so easy to change up what he’d always believed, that the better the quirk the more you could abuse it. That the best heroes were born that way and never had anyone to tell them no, and no one ever would. He could still see the police officer in his mind, never questioning for a moment why a fifteen year old kid was writhing in agony in a teacher’s private office, or why all the cameras had mysteriously turned off, or why a top student, the winner of the most important award a first year wannabe hero could get, would suddenly lash out at a retired hero who was training him to be better one day.

 

 _Akira believed him,_ he told himself, stalking through the halls towards his favorite vending machine. _Akira believed him, and so did Yusuke, and Ann, and Makoto and Futaba, and maybe even Morgana, and Haru too, probably._ _Shiho had held his hand the one time he’d visited, even, after Ann had convinced him to at least try. Shiho was probably a real life angel and she’d never held so much as a tiny grudge against him for some reason, but she told him she believed him too._

 

He doubted, though, that this would be worth it for all of them. He wanted to somehow take the blame from all of them, put all the expulsion weight on just himself and bite the bullet. They’d all given him so much, everything practically. And, he almost smiled to himself as he punched in the familiar code for a soda, kicking the machine when it glitched and whirred to a stop like always, it would be kinda like justice almost.

 

His old man, telling him he’d be nothing but a villain all his life, that it was the Sakamoto curse. His last and first action as a U.A. student was exposing Kamoshida or going out in a blaze of glory all on his own, all to protect his friends.

 

Ryuji shook his head, pulling the tab on his drink idly. There wasn’t a guarantee that Kamoshida wouldn’t take them all out anyways, even if Ryuji was gone. There’d be no point in going full 'one way trip' on the King if it didn’t even do anything. His brain kept looping back to the day Akira told him about his past though, the way that no one in his town had believed him despite growing up with him. The way that Akira had been bullied for so long that he treated it like it was expected, the fact that Ryuji had-

 

He took a long drink, glad for a moment at the way the bubbles burned against his throat.

 

Akira deserved to be happy. So did all of them, it was neon bright that they were all so inherently _good._ That was it, the crux of the whole situation. Yet Akria kept hitting every bad end and drawing every short straw no matter how hard he tried, yet they'd all been through so much over and over again. Ryuji might not be worth much at all, really, but if he could help change that somehow…

 

_You can, you know._

His soda tasted weird, flat probably. Ryuji frowned, tapping his leg as if it could temper out the nervous energy pulling at his rib cage. _Come on, it’s obvious, isn’t it?_ _Turn yourself in, take the fall. What if I told you I could promise that all the blame would fall just on you?_

 

Ryuji felt dizzy, or like his balance had been thrown off. There was something… off… Something…

 

_Kamoshida just wants to see you fail, Ryuji. He knows he doesn’t have anything conclusive on anyone else, but people would believe that you’d attacked him again, right? You’ve already done it once, haven’t you?_

 

Kamoshida was oddly focused on him, wasn’t he? Ryuji could probably twist that to his advantage, if he tried. Maybe he could find Kamoshida now, while everyone else was in class with an alibi, provoke him and get him to use his master plan trap card. Now, when no one else would be in the blast zone.

 

It was…. A good plan, honestly. Probably the best one he’d ever come up with all on his own.

 

_He’s outside, the tarmac. No windows nearby, you could finish this, Ryuji._

 

Ryuji’s feet hit the empty stairwell like bell tolls, the tarmac. Kamoshida wouldn’t want any eyes on him, he’d be there probably. Waiting with that stupid smirk. Ryuji could do this, be the hero for once, prove himself wrong, prove his dad wrong. For Akira, and Ann, for Shiho.

 

The door opened outwards to the back tarmac easily, like it had been left unlocked for him specifically. Warning bells crawled all over Ryuji’s skin but they felt irrelevant, annoying even. The sunlight streamed towards him as he stepped outside, the exact same moment the cloud of roiling dark pleasure stormed across.

 

Ryuji’s palms broke out into a cold sweat.

 

“Ah, Sakamoto, there you are.” Kamoshida turned towards him with that goddamned smirk twisting across his lips, shadows cutting a perfect mask across his eyes making them seem too bright against the looming darkness. Mishima stood beside him, a bruise forming against his cheek like a drop of colour in a glass of water. His shoulders were hunched, gaze cast downwards and desperately sad, Mishima’s fists clenched with his veins popping in the kind of way Ryuji knew meant he’d been using his quirk too long. 

 

_Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

 

“I’d say I was surprised to see you,” Kamoshida drawled, the brewing storm of malevolent glee crackled around them. “But we both know that would be a lie. Why don’t we talk, hm?”

 

 _Well,_ Ryuji thought succinctly. _Shit._


	10. This is the part where he kills you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full hero landing, in the most impractical of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say about this other than this is the end of what I had originally pre-written, so, everything else is a Wild Ride in itself. Also as always, thank you for your wonderful comments and enthusiasm I'm love you guys.

Kamoshida was a lot of things; cruel namely, egotistical, clearly. He was also calculating, desperate to hold onto his former glory in whatever foothold he could sneak into. He had the school and the city wrapped around his finger, and infinite advantages. Mostly, though, Kamoshida was a sore ‘effin loser. He’d found the one way, in all of their plans and advantages, to cheat them out of an easy win.

 

If Ryuji wasn’t so completely unable to see the obvious, he’d be kicking himself for being surprised at all.

 

Ryuji took a weak step backwards, knowing consciously there was nowhere to go. If he left Mishima would convince him to come back, if he ran, Kamoshida would probably tell the Principle he’d done something awful regardless. There was no outcome Ryuji could see that didn’t end with Kamoshida smirking down at him as his life fell entirely apart in front of him. Again. The perfect book ending for a pathetic, shitty story.

 

“Oh, did you really think you could sneak up on me? I own this school, Sakamoto, I own everything.” Kamoshida stepped forwards, shadows dragging along his feet like a cape. “You all play the parts I decide. I allowed you to stay, a mercy on my part really, and you repayed me by meddling.”

Ryuji was frozen, it was the office all over again, if he moved Kamoshida would use it against him. If he stayed… if he stayed it would be worse, so, so much worse.

 

“Wonder how two broken legs would feel,” Kamoshida stepped close enough Ryuji could see the flecks of red in his eyes, the hints of gold and the absolute menacing desire for pain pouring off of him. Ryuji was nothing but basic instincts, he was a construct of panic and fear and a constant screaming need to _leave, right now, oh my god_ , _move your legs and leave._ But Mishima was here, head down and fists clenched tight and with each step forwards Kamoshida took Ryuji’s heart sunk further.

 

“Let’s experiment a little, shall we?” Kamoshida smiled.

 

Ryuji had all of two seconds to contemplate how much he’d regret all of this moment, a split second to imagine the look of complete heartbreak and betrayal on his mom’s face, the way being an ‘ex- U.A’ student would hang off him in chains and inescapable reputations for the rest of his life, the way his dad would laugh because hadn’t he always predicted this anyways. Another half second to hope at least, if there was any good left in the universe, his friends would stay out of it.

 

The door behind him burst open, “Ryuji!”

 

There was apparently, no good at all left anywhere, evidently. The universe hated him thoroughly, and in every imaginable way.

 

 _Oh god,_ Ryuji thought, turning slowly like the world was in danger of slipping off its orbit and falling into nothing. _Akira, no_.

 

Akira’s chest was heaving like he’d ran all the way from his classroom, eyes frantic. “Ryuji, we can talk about this, you don’t have to- oh,” he paused, seemingly, and almost far too slowly, acknowledge the other presence in the alleyway.

 

 “Kamoshida.” His voice fell flat, icy in that particular cocky way that got right under Ryuji’s skin. “What are you doing out behind the school? Isn’t there a volleyball practice this period?”

 

Ryuji blinked, once. Twice. Kamoshida seemed momentarily lost as well, the cloud of bloodlust fading enough that Ryuji could breathe. He turned his pleading expression on Akira, wishing he could switch quirks with Mishima in that instant. _Get out of here you… you beautiful idiot! Run!_

 

Akira frowned, shaking his head in apparent confusion. Ryuji’s chest was screaming and straining inside him like a caged animal running wild with adrenaline. Akira was usually all perceptive intuition, sneaky grace and confidence, why was he being so dense, now of all times? _Akira, leave!_

 

“Akira, you-“ Ryuji couldn’t get his mouth to work, too afraid and stunned, a concoction of terrible awful confusion and panic.

 

“That is none of your business.” Kamoshida seemed to find himself faster than Ryuji could, his voice booming against the school walls. “Who the hell are you, anyways?”

 

The cloud loomed closer, tinged with frustration. Ryuji was even more at a loss, he’d assumed, until this point that Kamoshida knew who all of them were. That he’d been planning to expel the lot of them, Mishima having scrounged up enough to throw them all in prison, however much against the kids will. He abruptly was overwhelmed with the feeling he was missing something important, that Ryuji was very, very, out of his depth.

 

“Me? Oh, I’m just a support track kid, don’t think we’d ever have need to cross paths, really.” The cool satin smirk was falling around Akira’s expression again, his wide eyes and heaving breaths suddenly replaced with long elegance and assured smiles. Ryuji blinked again. The door slowly clicked shut after a long moment, like it too had been holding its breath.

 

“Sure seems odd to have a meeting out behind the old tarmac, I have to say. Not much of a place for an esteemed teacher to be hanging out, alone with a student,” Akira’s hands were in his pockets, he tilted his head and the sunlight flashed across his glasses, opaque and expressionless. Ryuji saw only grey static, and realized, for a moment he’d seen something else. Too quickly to process, but a flash of gold, lightning.

 

“Almost suspicious, even.” Akira finished, stepping closer.

 

“A-akira,” Ryuji found his voice, and lost it again.

 

Kamoshida snarled. “Are you accusing me of something, brat? I’ll have you know, your friend here tried that once. Didn’t go over well for him, either.”

 

Akira’s eyebrow quirked. “It’s only an accusation if you have something to hide. I’d like to remind you, anything you say now would be two against one.”

 

Something in Kamoshida’s expression shifted, the cloud grew dark and crackling once again. Ryuji’s leg ached. “Is it?” He hissed the words, drawing out the syllables with a laugh. “A support track student, and a delinquent. Would anyone think to fault me over you scum? And besides,” Ryuji abruptly became aware of the cacophony of emotions swirling around them, moments before Kamoshida scattered a pocket full of sawdust and several figures emerged from seemingly nowhere.

 

The picture was uncomfortably familiar, like a mirror image of the night Akira and he met by the train tracks; two kids, one uselessly afraid, against adults with no help in sight. The sun moved behind the clouds, Akira’s eyes flashed gold and grim.

 

“I think you’ll find the odds here are stacked against you,” Kamoshida laughed. Ryuji’s eyes tracked across each new figure. How had he forgotten about Kamoshida’s quirk? He’d had nightmares for a while about all the cold empty eyes and all the lifeless hands. He should never have come out here.

 

 

 _Aw, hell_ , Ryuji gulped. They all loomed forwards, a sea of cracking knuckles and ominous intentions echoing Kamoshida’s own psyche. Akira took a faltering step back, something like fear flickering through the haze, and his stutter step seemingly instinctively put him in front of Ryuji. Another mirror, this time of the two kids on the playground. Ryuji’s brain stopped, rebooted, whirred onwards.

 

A switch flipped, his leg throbbed, angry and insistent. He refused to be useless this time, the fear clicked off like it had never been there to begin with. This was his fight, not Akira’s. He’d put up with too much anyways, Ryuji could fight one battle for him, and if it had to only be one…. Well, he wouldn’t let Kamoshida hurt him.

_Not Akira._

 

“Akira,” Ryuji didn’t bother looking over, he focused on draining everything around them into his sparking broken circuits. He’d probably only get one shot at this, he’d have to put everything he could into containing himself. Finding a single point of outlet, like Shiho had taught him. God, he hoped this worked.  “You have to grab Mishima when I say and get the hell out of here.”

 

“Ryuji-”

 

“I’m not tellin’ ya twice, man. Get Mishima and run.”

 

There was a spike, a jolt in Akira’s facade, like he was afraid- _good,_ Ryuji thought bitterly, _finally_ \- but then, it wasn’t the pale shade he expected either. More gold lightning. The insistent feeling that something was going on heightened, Akira shouldn’t even be here.

 

“Poor Ryuji, a whole army and he still thinks he stands a chance,” Kamoshida tutted, Mishima was looking up now, hands lax and eyes rounded towards Akira.

 

“Akira, go.” Ryuji ground out the words, the maelstrom of emotions around him were overwhelming, now. That same feeling of panic, of knowledge that this was going to happen, and he couldn’t stop it was beginning to carve out the spaces in his lungs where he still held on.

 

Akira hesitated, faltered. Ryuji didn’t have the time. “Please!” He was nearly sobbing, now. He’d reigned it in somehow, with Akira sure. But he figured it was a hair trigger in him that clicked down the last second, because Akira was…. Because Ryuji felt…

 

Pink, fluttering chests, the feeling of falling and falling and always being caught. The rose petal shade filtered in amongst everything else and stuck, thickly and solidly.

 

Because it was Akira, and Ryuji would do anything for Akira.

 

Because he loved him.

 

This wall of guards smirking and crawling like cockroaches in front of them didn’t exactly evoke the same warm and confusing thoughts. Mostly just a lot of anger and fear. And probably a little bit of indigestion, if he were being honest. Being terrified shitless made his stomach act up, so sue him.

 

The swell of crackling energy in him kept boiling and looping, frantically creating an endless loop of power in him that just kept rising. Ryuji wasn’t in control anymore, he was just at the front seat watching all of his systems flick to overdrive before his eyes. He felt his nails bite into his palms, desperate to hold on a second later but _dammit,_ Akira wasn’t moving.

 

Part of him hoped this would go down like one of his mangas, that he’d finally admit the bubbling words in his chest, maybe call them out dramatically and confess right before everything went to shit and it would all somehow work out. That his feelings would be enough to keep Akira safe, save the day, and fix all of this in one fell swoop. A cheesy stupid ending, probably. Ryuji liked clichés, though. At least the happy ones.

 

He was unfortunately, once again reminded that the universe wasn’t his friend though, when Akira merely squared his shoulders, and smiled.

 

He was going to implode, right now, in front of Kamoshida, and Mishima who definitely didn’t deserve this, and Akira. He was going to erupt just like his father said, take half the school out with him and, god, that’s probably what Kamoshida was hoping for, wasn’t it?

 

 _Stupid, stupid idiot Ryuji,_ never reading between the lines. Walking right into the god damned spider web like always, impulsive and angry.

 

All the qualities of a villain, through and through.

 

The electric rippling feeling stilled for a half a moment, before it crescendoed, reached the other side of the peak, a rollercoaster beginning its unstoppable downward drop.

 

“No!” He felt himself scream, instinctively slammed his eyes shut to avoid this somehow. Like he was a kid again and if he couldn’t see it, it wouldn’t be real. The familiar riptide of power spread outwards from the broken gap in his circuits, a frayed wire on a puddle of water, and he waited for the resounding explosion.

 

And waited.

 

And waited.

 

“Ryuji,” A hand touched his shoulder, Ryuji fearfully peeled one eye open.

 

Where he expected rubble, there was solid walls. Where he thought he’d see burning limbs, there was Kamoshida’s wide eyes, whole but angry. Pissed beyond belief actually.

 

“How the hell,” Kamoshida growled. “That should have- Mishima, what did you do?” He turned towards the scared boy, who, for once, seemed oddly pleased.

 

“He didn’t do anything,” Akira stepped forwards again, hand on his hip. All strutting confidence and condescension. “Ryuji’s just better than you. You really have to learn to stop underestimating people, _King._ ”

 

“I-I... “ Ryuji gaped. Everything was… it was fine? “How… I- I was going to- Akira?”

 

He turned his pinwheeling sights on the dark-haired boy beside him, who offered a wild smile in return, laden with pride and confidence.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Akira shrugged. “You’re not a villain. There’s no way you’d let him win, anyways.”

 

Ryuji blinked his confusion. Akira tilted his head, and pink curled around him. It was the most enchanting sight Ryuji had ever seen.

 

“I... “ Ryuji repeated dumbly, at the same time as Akira spoke, something thick and warm and bursting with too much relief worming its way behind his eyes. “Akira… I- ” There was something frantic in the air still, Akira’s expression was evening out the way he expected, screaming _‘I need to tell you something Very Important But We’re Running Out of Time.’_

“Akira…?”

 

“That’s all very touching and all, but, if you boys don’t mind…” Kamoshida interrupted. “Restrain the other one, I think it’s high time I gave Sakamoto here an extra lesson.”

 

And instantly, everything went to hell.

 

The gathering of guards pushed forward, Ryuji still reeling and weak limbed was shoved to the side. Hands grabbed him, and he lost sight of Akira, the wheels in his brain finally catching with a faint _‘hey, wait a minute.’_

 

“L-let me go!” He twisted, the hands on him felt cold as steel, and he felt a burn in his pinned shoulder like it was threads away from popping.

 

“I think, what I’m gunna do is make your friend here watch. I’ll tear you apart piece by piece, and have your friend tell the whole school about how you went ballistic. Just like your father. I, as the worlds number one hero, had no choice but to stop you.” Kamoshida loomed closer, the hazy cloud of malice returned. Ryuji expected to feel overwhelmed again, lost in the fog of so much raw and direct emotion pouring into him. He expected to panic, maybe, having Kamoshida so close and directly in his face just like he’d often woken up screaming over.

 

“I’m going to make you regret coming after me, boy.” Kamoshida growled.

 

Ryuji just felt…. Relieved.

 

He laughed, at first a little more than a weird gasping breath and then real mirth bubbled through him. Maybe only a little tinged with hysteria but-

 

He wasn’t his father. He hadn’t exploded. He loved Akira. He still had a choice.

 

Kamoshida had tried to set his quirk off into fireworks and buzz saws, and _it didn’t work._ Ryuji had ruined Kamoshida’s plan by…. Being himself? By wanting to protect Akira, _no._ By… being a hero.

 

“What the hell?” Kamoshida snarled, suddenly Ryuji felt all the air rushing out of his lungs as a fist drove into his stomach. His legs buckled, but he was kept upright by the hands holding him. “What the fuck is so funny?”

 

Another hit caught him under the jaw, another crashed against his ribcage with an uncomfortable shuddering sensation. Ryuji distantly realized he was smiling.

 

“Ryuji!” Akira called out, he pulled his head up (when had it fallen?) and caught the absolute wild horror crashing through his friend. His eyes were wet and huge, real genuine fear crackling in his dark eyes, like he’d miscalculated. Akira never miscalculated, Ryuji was sure. He’d planned some part of this, somehow, he realized. He’d wanted to corner Kamoshida. He’d figured Mishima would be forced to call Ryuji over, to separate him from his friends and pick off the weakest link. Akira knew all of this was going to happen,  but he’d underestimated something.

 

He probably hadn’t planned on Kamoshida’s huge effin’ grudge towards Ryuji making him absolutely irrational and ballistic, actually. The physical violence side of things didn’t really scream ‘Akira’s calculated plan.’

 

Another punch drive into his side, and Ryuji gasped, vision going muggy for a minute.

 

“Stop smiling!” Kamoshida roared, and then there were hands wrapping around Ryuji’s neck, and oh. Hell. Kamoshida really was going to kill him wasn’t he?

 

Distantly he felt his hands clenching and unclenching, the steel arms holding him still impenetrable. There was nothing he could do. Ryuji’s blurry gaze fell on Akira again, just visible past Kamoshida’s shaking shoulders. Akira was yelling, thrashing against the villains holding him down, calling his name and reaching out but there was nothing…

 

Kamoshida threw Ryuji to the ground, his knees caught on the rough pavement and burned. Ryuji burned. He choked and gasped, hand around his own neck like he could force his lungs to work faster. A sharp kick caught him under the ribs and he sprawled to the side, his cheek grazing against the ground.

 

“Sh-shit,” he choked out. Inspiring last words, really.

 

“This is where you belong!” Kamoshida snarled, Ryuji could barely pull his words like submerged spaghettios through the burning blur around him. He sounded half hysterical. Ryuji’s mouth felt weird, he spat something thick out onto the tarmac and forced himself to look up.

 

“Below me, at the bottom of every food chain, crawling on your hands and knees. You are nothing! Stop. Fucking. Smiling!”

 

“Leave him alone!” Akira roared, no, _screamed_. Ryuji winced at the panic lacing through his leader’s tone, but it was alright, wasn’t it? Akira could easily slip away, should have already. Ryuji could stall until Akira got out, he was strong enough. He hadn’t blown up after all, he was in control.

 

He was a hero.

 

So, why hadn’t Akira vanished yet? Kamoshida’s focus wasn’t on him, he had time. Why was Akira so focused on being stubbornly loyal?

 

“Some King,” Ryuji spat again, something warm trailing from his chin. “Leadin’ around all those criminals? W-what, couldn’t get your fellow heroes to fawn all over you?”

 

Kamoshida growled, Ryuji expected the slap that knocked him sideways. “Looks to me like,” he gasped as Kamoshida’s boot caught him in his bad leg. “L-like they’re only stickin’ around s’long as you’re their only ticket in. They’re usin’ you, dumbass.” He gasped, tearing his gaze up to Kamoshida’s livid glare. “Your days are over, asswipe. I’m not scared of you.”

 

Kamoshida growled, animalistic, unhinged. “I’ll rip that fucking smile off your lips, kid.”

 

The two guards that had been holding Ryuji took a few stuttering steps back. A flicker of something yellow and panicked rippling through the air, faintly glowing between the dark clouds and chaotic desperation. A lightning bolt.

 

Ryuji grinned, he imagined he looked deranged. Beaten and bloody and barely there, but so, _so_ relieved.

 

“Akira, I-”

 

“Alright, shows over!” A voice boomed out, cutting Ryuji off, again. That was getting a little annoying, honestly, even if he couldn't remember what he'd wanted to say. Even if Akira wasn't looking at him anymore. He started, dizziness catching him sideways and off guard as everything blurred like a windshield in a busted car wash. The voice, it must be his headache, but it sounded like-

 

“Takamaki? What the hell?” Kamoshida barked, taking a step back. Ryuji shuddered, the cloud of hatred fading again enough for his desperate lungs to stutter into functioning again.

 

“I said, shows. Over. You’re done, Kamoshida.”

 

The dark aura turned pale with confusion, disbelief. Kamoshida barked out a laugh, Ryuji couldn’t see properly but the tremor was stapled in neon colours anyways. “You kids tried to gang up on me, that it? Adorable, but stupid. Show yourself and I might reconsider having you all expelled right now.”

 

“Shiho, would you be so kind?”

 

Ryuji blinked once, twice. His headache must be worse than he thought because it looked like Shiho had stepped out of thin air, with Ann alongside her. They’d both been right behind Kamoshida, somehow. Ryuji’s guts churned dangerously, the bruises creeping up on him without the adrenaline boost. Ann looked, off somehow, Ryuji thought. He shook his head slightly, pushing himself upwards to his knees again. A wave of gratefulness smacked into him and almost made his arms give out.

 

Like the relief he’d felt earlier, but with a tinge of something torn open, like a door thrown open that had been locked behind steel walls. _It’s okay. It’s fine now Ryuji, you did it. Just take it easy, okay? Please, please just take it easy. Just stay still, god, Ryuji please._

 

Ryuji gulped around the sudden thick warmth in his throat, he blinked at himself in confusion.

 

“All of this was broadcast to every TV station, every computer, every classroom in the city. You’re done, Kamoshida.”

 

“That’s not possible-”

 

“It is,” Mishima’s quiet voice joined in, Ryuji forced his eyes up once again, mind whirling with more than just a head injury now. “I’m done hurting people, I-I won’t. This has to end, a-and I’m ending it.”

 

 _Atta boy_ , Ryuji grinned. Followed immediately by, _what the actual hell is going on._

 

“You wouldn’t dare! You know what happens if you cross me -”

 

“That won’t be a problem, I can assure you.” And, finally, blissfully, Akira. In control, cocky and self assured as ever, voice like a cold glass on a blistering day. Ryuji burned. “Everything you have said has been your true thoughts, beliefs, and ideals, was it not, King?”

 

“I- yes. How are you-”

 

“Were you not just threatening a student at U.A. with bodily harm?”

 

“Yes, what the fuck are you-”

 

“Kamoshida, what exactly were your intentions?”

 

“I’m perfectly inno- I was going to kill Sakamoto and pin the blame on you. Then I was going to expose you all and claim the rewards for bringing future criminals to justice because I am desperate to keep my top position. I deserve it, I’m the only one who deserves to be at the top. Hey, wh- wait!”

 

Ann was still standing next to him, Ryuji realized. Gloveless. Masked. Kamoshida’s weakness, standing in the dim alleyway like the fires of hell incarnate. Ryuji could have swore for a moment that she was a vengeful goddess, immortal and alit by righteous fury and Ryuji could have cried. He was crying, actually. Dammit.

 

“I think we’ve heard enough.” Ryuji could picture it, Akira’s flicking coat tails as he turned, the way the guards crumbled back to sawdust around them as Kamoshida’s words echoed back around them from every hallway intercom in the school. The whole thing spelled out in horrified hues and panic, victorious reds and adrenaline-fueled relief, and smears of concern and gut clenching worry as the weight of everything finally settled like dust after a collapsing empire.

 

Ryuji tilted, slipped down into nothing, imagined himself splintering and spreading outwards like so much sawdust _. Oh, shit, Ryuji!_   The concrete reached up to grab him, he felt his smile wide and bright still, and then nothing.

 

“Ryuji!”

 

He was so relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh. Sorry. He's okay, probably.


	11. I aorta tell you how much I love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji and Shiho bond over bad soap opera TV shows and also their bad soap opera lives in general. Some decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say that the reason this chapter took so long was because I was trying to think of a stupid joke for the chapter name, but considering how bad this one is that's not a very good excuse. In reality, I just had to rewrite a bunch of things after deciding not to end it after the last bit SO. I'm super sorry but thanks for stickin' with me!

 

 

Overnight the city caved inwards, bubbled back out, and shifted two feet to the left. Shock left the TV’s silent, news reporters speechless. Then, the seams cracked and shattered and the vacuum they’d all been living under rushed inwards with a tidal wave of information. Tv’s roiled in breaking news, in reports and testimonies, in emotional outrages and people stepping forwards, pleading guilty, swearing up and down “they didn’t know”. Kamoshida’s secrets were laid out and dried in the sunlight of a hundred gaping photograph bulbs and spread across the globe.

 

Villains even testified, to everyone’s surprise; probably believing that throwing their blackmailer under the bus would get them less jail time, or at least free them from the downwards spiral the ‘King’ was dragging them all under. The King was a black hole, nothing could break out. The foundations had been ripped free and tossed upwards.

Everything was possible, and nothing was.

 

Suddenly, heroes weren’t perfect gods. They weren’t inherently idols to look up to and model your kids after. People couldn’t handle it, they panicked. They needed something to blame, some sort of figure to thank. All eyes turned to the mysterious kids in the broadcasted clips. The Phantom Thieves went from a whisper to a megaphone shout, and Akira, the kid with the golden eyes and the leader voice, was stage center.

 

The crack in the glass held with bubble-gum paste and a ‘we’ll fix it later’ throw away line.

 

Across the city, Ryuji’s heart skipped and stalled for a brief second, and a boy with golden eyes vanished into the shadows.

 

 

 

Ryuji woke up in a hospital, which, wasn’t altogether as surprising as it could have been. His hands flexed, cautiously measuring out maps of bruises and scrapes as his brain swamp upwards through murky nothing.

 

He remembered Akira, someone yelling, and.

 

He’d been smiling, hadn’t he? At... someone. He felt... comforted still. Relieved.

 

“Ryuji?” A familiar voice called, and something brushed his hair tentatively. He worked bit by bit at opening his sandbag eyes.

 

“Nnm… mom?” A slow blink later and the exhausted but painfully relieved smile of his mother began to pull into focus. He instinctively tried to turn towards her, only to be met with a firm wall of _‘ouch nope, don’t do that’_ and his mother’s firm hands holding him down.

 

“Shh, don’t move too much, sweetie. Just look at me okay? You’re at the hospital, you were pretty…banged up. The doctors said you'll be okay, just a lot of bruises and bones. They want to keep you for a bit to watch your quirk though, something about shorting out? ” Her eyes started to water, _oh no_ , there was no way Ryuji would be able to handle his mother crying. Definitely not when he couldn’t even hug her. She wasn’t even supposed to find out about any of this until after, _shit._

 

“Mom! Mom don’t cry, I’m fine, see? It’s alright-“ He tried to flip his useless hands over, to grab hers and hold on tight. Everything in him felt stuffed thick with molasses, like he’d slept funny on every nerve ending in his system.

 

“No, it’s not alright!” She cut him off, lips flat and wobbling. Ryuji winced as the sharp nauseating green-yellow hues hit his senses, his head ached with the onslaught. Ryuji’s mother immediately dropped her tone, took a long breath and gathered Ryuji’s hands in hers.

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Just, you were so hurt, Ryu. That man… to think we all trusted him- and. And…god, Ryuji you tried to tell me, I know you did, but I-“ The guilt was a blooming flower, layers and layers of awful indigos and white bursts of regret.

 

“Mom, no! I- It’s not your fault, I- he… he was a hero! Nobody was going to believe some… stupid delinquent kid over him, right?” He felt disconnected, like this conversation was happening two feet to the left with a really good Ryuji impersonator. This was both everything he’d wanted and didn’t want wrapped up in aches and pains and a confusing amount of dizziness.

 

“But they should have,” her eyes were steel. “Ryuji, they should have. I should have.”

 

Ryuji’s mouth opened and closed, eyes wide.

 

“What did he do, Ryu? You always had so many bruises, I-I thought they were from training but I never _asked_ , did I?” She was emitting too much, an awful array of heartbreaking blues and guilt ridden purple-grey’s, like a bruise of upset and regret that made his own heart twist and jolt in knife like lurches. He closed his eyes as the headache crested around him.

 

“O-oh, sorry, Ryuji. I’m sorry, I-“ she was crying, he could feel it. Ryuji focused on how grateful he was to have a mom as hardworking and patient and forgiving as her, letting it bubble up through him. For once, he didn’t worry about it catching or warping, or about his control. It felt like being a kid again, the light careful love sloping off his fingers and wrapping around the hurt in his mother’s heart. Holding it softly, gently.

 

“Mom,” he convinced his fingers to squeeze hers back. “I’m really okay, I’m sorry I never told you.”

 

“Oh, Ryu,” she leaned forwards shakily. “I’m sorry you never thought you could.”

 

 

 

He slept a lot the first day, the doctor’s said that was normal, but he didn’t like it. They wouldn’t tell him what was going on, just kept whispering at him to rest or that they’d talk about it later.

 

Ann and Shiho showed up at some point, which was a huge relief. Ann bought him a dumb dolphin from the souvenir shop that almost made him tear up.

 

She held his hand in her gloved one and ran her fingers through his hair and said he was brave. That they were all so lucky they’d met him. Ryuji did tear up then, though he’d deny it.

 

“Why didn’t you guys tell me your back up plan was to use me as bait?” Ryuji frowned. He’d put it together the second his entire head had stopped throbbing. They’d all been a little too prepared.

 

Ann winced. “Sorry, Ryuji. We didn’t expect him to actually hurt you, you have to believe us! We just, well you’re not exactly a great actor and-“

 

“What?! Compared to you, I’m a fantastic actor!”

 

Shiho cut in as Ann sputtered angrily. “It was my idea, Ryuji, I apologize.” She ducked her head, shoulders high with regret. Ryuji was really tired of all these deep emotional bruises around him. “Kamoshida… he knows you too well. And he’d already enlisted Mishima’s help. Me and him had talked about it, he’d suspected something was up. Kamoshida kept asking him about how far his reach could go and things like that. I asked Ann to get everyone else prepared, just in case.”

 

Ryuji frowned for all of two more seconds, but the genuine guilt leaking through Shiho’s nearly perfect buzz of nothing made it hard to stay annoyed. “Yeah well, it worked didn’t it? And I’m still here, so. I said I’d do whatever it took to take the bastard down,” he shrugged.

 

“I really didn’t think he’d go that far,” Ann whispered, biting her lip.

 

“Hey,” Ryuji met her gaze, waited until she stopped glancing away, and smirked. “I got to see you lookin’ all badass, can’t really complain too much, hey?”

 

She snorted and blinked away a few tears before hugging him tightly around the neck. “Ryuji Sakamato, you are the stupidest, bravest boy I’ve ever met.”

 

Ryuji grinned and hugged her back. “Have to keep up with you badasses don’t I?”

 

Shiho kissed the top of his head when they’d left and promised to show him some of her cool moves someday.

 

 

Yusuke sauntered in later and looked at him very seriously while he proclaimed he would utilize Ryuji’s “Final Stand” moment in his newest art piece. Something about understanding what selflessness truly meant and wanting to capture it.

 

“It was a magnificent sight, even over the camera feeds. So defiant, rebellious and just! Ryuji, you are a marvel.” His wide smile made Ryuji blush. A lot. _‘A marvel’_. _Jeeze._ Yusuke gave him a too long hug before leaving also, which didn’t help. _Damn attractive artists._

 

 

Futaba and Makoto walked in with Morgana, who even gave Ryuji a tearful hug and promised not to say any mean things about him anymore. Of course, that had lasted maybe five minutes, before Morgana was rolling his eyes and muttering about Ryuji being a dumbass. “It’s not my fault he’s so easy to make fun of!” Morgana complained when Futaba had threated to throw him out of the building. Ryuji couldn’t help but laugh and pat the half cat kid on the head, strangely he thought he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

Akira never visited, though.  His stomach twisted and his heart raced, thinking something awful must have happened. That his parents found him, or he’d ran off without Ryuji. Without all of them.

 

Anytime he pressed one of his friends about him, they’d make excuses, a nervous buzz rising from their shoulders.

 

Ryuji was an idiot but he wasn’t stupid. Mostly.  

 

A few days later, after his injuries had started healing up well enough he could sit up and have a full conversation without nodding off, he started getting annoyed.

 

 

 

 

“He’s my friend too! I was there, I deserve to know-“

 

“Ryuji! Keep your voice down,” Makoto chided, looking anxiously at the door where two police officers hovered. The hospital said it was a safety precaution, being that he’d been the victim of a high profile attack. Mostly Ryuji thought it was a way to keep all the reporters from sneaking in and ambushing him. He’d also been questioned long enough that his mom had threatened to sue for causing distress. It was…. Weird having people believe him. Having police protecting _him_ was a whole other thing. It made him itchy, nervous. He liked being a nobody, he realized. No expectations meant he couldn’t let anyone down. Pressure didn’t sit so well on his chest anymore.

 

“Right, sorry.” He ducked his head sheepishly. As far as the general media went, the group that had apprehended Kamoshida was a bunch of ‘anonymous heroes’. Because they hadn’t passed their hero exams yet, they weren’t technically allowed to do basically any of the things they’d done. Since it turned out that Kamoshida was a giant festering sack of shit, though, the school board had elected to let them off with only a stern talking to. As ‘not technical heroes’ though, internet phenomenon’s as they were, they were teenagers to boot, the media wasn’t allowed to know anything about them. Which meant nobody outside of the school and the families involved knew.

 

Well, except for him.

 

Ryuji had been the prime focus of a ‘helpless victim’ after all. His face had been broadcast across most of the city.

 

He was apparently a trending hashtag on Twitter. _Ugh._

 

“Where is he, though? It’s not like Akira to shirk his comforting best friend status.” Ryuji crossed his arms -carefully, his arm was still in a rather hefty cast, which annoyed him. Kamoshida broke something else of his after all – and gave his best glare/pout.

 

Ann sighed. “It’s…. complicated.”

 

“So uncomplicate it!” Ryuji didn’t like all the careful grey nothing around them all, Shiho must have taught them all how to restrain emotions leaking everywhere. Normally he’d be flattered, having constant sensory input was still a little rough on his fried system, but this was beyond annoying.

 

Ann hedged a look at Makoto, who shrugged. Her fingers were intertwined with Haru’s, Ryuji noticed. _Huh._

 

“He’s… you know he’s got to be careful about who sees him, right?”

 

Ryuji nodded slowly, “yeah, Akira mentioned something about that.” _Something about running and never ever stopping,_ he thought.

 

“Yeah, well,” Futaba swung her legs absently at the end of the hospital bed, staring blankly at the wall like she was seeing something else. “The wrong people saw him.”

 

Ryuji didn’t like the sound of that. At all in fact. His mouth felt impossibly dry. “What happens if the wrong people find him?”

 

Futaba didn’t answer.

 

 

 

Some part of Ryuji knew, beyond all the tightly clenched hands and eyes trained on the news report announcements, the tearful celebrating when Kamoshida was carted off to jail and stripped of his hero status, that nothing had really changed. Maybe he wanted to believe they had, still. That they’d gone through all of this for a reason, that justice and kindness would and could still win out over adults and selfishness.

 

Maybe he’d picked up too much pessimism after all, though.

 

Sure, people knew more, now. But there’d always be kids nobody listened to. There’d always be assumptions that heroes could only be good, and villains could only be bad. That powers made you what you were.  The truth didn’t sell papers or make headlines the same way. Knowing that people were still people was a terrifying thought; that those with invulnerability and super strength could just as easily hurt or rob or steal meant no one was really safe after all.

 

People might pretend to be changed, that the world order had been shaken up, but people liked simplicity. They liked things to be calm, normal.

 

And normal meant plugging your ears and believing what you wanted to believe, at the end of the day.

 

He watched anxiously a few hours later, alone in his room for a brief moment, finally granted permission to use the remote for the tiny staticy TV in the corner. His broken ribs ached, his busted up skull throbbed, and none of it mattered. The news report flashed a single banner against the bottom screen, and he knew nothing was actually different at all.

 

_‘Teen Anti-Hero Kurusu Akira Escaped! Wanted for criminal involvement. Search for his capture is being led by Superhero Detective, Akechi Goro.’_

 

 

When Ryuji was a kid, he’d wished for the power to run so fast nobody could catch him. He’d dream of sprinting through lights and colours, so fast there was no sound, nothing left to see. Ryuji would take his pudgy hands and squeeze them tight and wish he could run so fast, he could find another world. One where heroes did the right thing, helped people who needed help, and didn’t leave little boys with chipped hearts all alone.

 

The last time he’d laced up his shoes for practice, he’d squeezed his fist, pressed his chapped lips to his knuckles, and hoped he’d be fast enough that Kamoshida wouldn’t ever catch him again.

 

He knew what it was like, to want to run and never stop. To feel only the bounce of the soles of your feet and the measured breaths filling your chest. Akira just wanted to stop, to catch his breath, to belong somewhere, and the world caught up to him anyways. Akira had known what it would mean to have his gold flashing gaze on loop across every TV screen, what it would mean to follow Ryuji, maskless and vulnerable. He’d known, and he’d done it anyways, given up everything just so Ryuji could have _something_ again.  He squeezed his fist to his chest, heart caught in a freefall, and wished one last time.

 

 

 

 

Recovery was painfully slow. Ryuji remembered, the way his arm would ache in an untouchable place, an unnameable way and the only way to stop it was with a pill he was only allowed a certain amount of. He remembered the stretches that brought tears to his eyes- angry and frustrated and knotted up in so many layers of exhaustion. He remembered how weak he’d be for a while, hopefully not forever, but the fear never left.

 

The doctors said his arm was a clean break; unlike his leg it wasn’t tied to his quirk so there was less to worry about in that sense at least, and it would heal fine. Unlike his leg, it didn’t change anything. Except to remind him every waking moment that Akira was gone, that he was being looked after and the bills were being taken care of and people _cared_ in general, because of Akira.

 

Everything had changed.

 

Everyone still trudged to work, trudged home, went for ice cream and school like it was all the same anyways. He guessed it was human nature to find the normalcy in anything, didn’t mean he hated it any less.

 

Shiho, surprisingly, showed up every day, sometimes without Ann. “I know how much the exercises hurt,” she shrugged. “Ice cream and company always helped.” Ryuji was still recovering from the blunt force trauma, concussion, and all the other patchwork of internal bullshit Kamoshida had inflicted, he wasn’t supposed to have anything that wasn’t Doctor Approved. Shiho snuck him tiny plastic cups of tiger ice cream anyways, his favorite.

 

He’d stumble back into his room after a grueling hour of hell, slowly eat his ice cream and awkwardly hide it from the nurses, and just. Talk.

 

Everyone else’s’ careful greys were aggravating, meant layers of secrets and regrets they didn’t ‘want to upset him with’. Shiho’s was quieter, laced with a soft understanding like fresh laundry that made it comfortable. Shiho wasn’t hiding secrets from Ryuji, she was just Shiho. Her emotions were hers to keep, Ryuji didn’t mind.

 

He twirled his plastic spoon in the orange laced mush, he always liked ice cream best when it more resembled a smoothie than anything else. “Do you think he’ll leave Japan?” He asked, surprising himself with the words.

 

Shiho looked over from the TV, brows furrowed. “No,” she said after a moment. “I think…. I think he’s tired of running. I’m… worried he’s going to make the wrong choice,” Her lips pursed. “They’re wrong about him, though. Thinking he’s dangerous just because of a quirk. Not that they’d listen to him.”

 

Ryuji scowled, stabbing his spoon into the ice cream mountain he’d made. “Course not. Nobody listens. He saved my life and solved the biggest underground villain ring mystery nobody even knew about, but some rich guy said he was a criminal so of course he is.”

 

Shiho sighed. “The warrant out for him is all everyone’s talking about. That and why he’d run, they said it would just make the verdict worse in court. He’s a minor and all but...”

 

Akira was going to have to keep running for the rest of his life. He’d get the Ryuji treatment, assumptions and flinches, all the fun glares. The boy who lived in the shadows forcibly dragged into the spotlight. Ryuji hated it, he was fine being a pariah, he was used to it.  Now there were all these stupid get well soon cards from classmates who’d broadcasted pure unfiltered disgust and hatred towards him not even a few weeks ago. Now his mom was getting donations from hero companies who’d scoffed and said he was worth nothing before. Now professional heroes who’d ignored him, left him in the hands of someone who’d hurt him and broken him down, people who’d turned their backs on a kid, visited him with sad puppy dog eyes and forced empathy like overpowering perfume.

 

And Akira was being treated like a high-profile criminal. All because he’d shown his face on camera, and the rumors caught up to him.

 

“How are people so stupid? He was clearly helping me, he stood there and told Kamoshida off; and the stupid adults are convinced that the number one hero could _only_ have been an asshole if he was being mind controlled by a teenager?”

 

“I…” Shiho looked back at the TV screen, “I think it’s more… he ran from the police for years, only to end up involved in a villain ring. Sort of a paint by numbers. They have it all wrong but it’s just, you know, easier to control the panic.”

 

If Ryuji wasn’t still an all-over bruise, he’d have kicked something. “Yeah, because ignoring shit always works out so good.”

 

“Ryuji-“

 

“No, okay. It’s fine, I know. People’d freak out, wouldn’t know who to trust, shit’d be bad. I know. Just, why can’t Kamoshida being a dick be enough? Why’d they gotta…..” He dropped his head into his hands. “Why’d they gotta blame Akira? He never did anything wrong, why’s it gotta be him?”

 

Shiho was silent for a long moment. A small hand touched his arm. “You…. You know it wouldn’t have been better if it was you, right?”

 

Ryuji winced. “Akira didn’t deserve this shit.”

 

“You didn’t either,” another voice spoke up. Ryuji jolted, gaze snapping up towards the window where night had fallen outside. Amidst the twinkling night, a familiar pair of glasses and a crooked smile.

 

“Akira!” He gasped, Shiho echoed quieter beside him.

 

Akira placed a finger over his lip, smile falling into something easier, softer. _Pink,_ Ryuji thought, dazedly. Ryuji blinked, and scrambled forward, eyes flicking back to the open hallway with the guards just around the corner.

 

“Y-you shouldn’t be here! I-“ Ryuji yelped quietly as his ribs flared with the frantic movement.

 

Akira took two smooth strides over, and gently pushed Ryuji backwards, brows drawn tight with fond exasperation. “And you shouldn’t be moving. Guess we’re both bad at doing what we’re supposed to.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Shiho spoke up. “Even if they come in, I won’t let them see you.”

 

Ryuji’s heart warmed and ached at Shiho’s determined and dedicated nod. He’d gotten to know her over the past few weeks, beyond the worried eyes and unbearably kind heart. She was brave, obviously. Loyal as hell. Willing to put her career on the line for this boy she barely knew just because it seemed like the right thing, and because Ryuji cared about him.

 

“Thanks Shiho,” Akira nodded, smile widening to a grin as he turned back to Ryuji.

 

“W-why are you here? You dumbass! You- they’re all after you, you gotta go! I thought you’d have skipped town already, _why are you here?”_ Ryuji pushed at his chest with his one good arm weakly, heart rate spiking loudly on the monitor beside him.

 

Akira’s hands cupped his chin. “Hey, shh. Ryuji, you gotta calm down or they’re going to check on you. Don’t worry, alright? They’re not going to find me unless I want them to.”

 

Instinctively, Ryuji’s hands grabbed onto Akira’s, locking him in place. Desperately. “How did you get away? Why’re you visiting my sorry ass- this is dangerous, you moron! Where the ‘eff h _ave you been_?” _Why didn’t you visit sooner? Are you okay? Akira, where did you go?_

 

Akira’s eyes were so warm, fond. Ryuji almost had to look away from the sunset hues and ignore the pop rock skip against his skin. “I had to check that you were okay.”

 

And- Ryuji’s mouth snapped shut. Heat rising obnoxiously to his cheeks. Akira’s thumb slid across Ryuji’s cheekbone, his gaze following after.

 

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you the plan.” He whispered.

 

Ryuji blinked. “Oh, it’s fine. I know I would have messed it up somehow.”

 

Akira shook his head. “Ryuji.” Something in his tone changed then, became sharp. Pointed. Ryuji’s eyes dropped instinctively, embarrassed and abruptly anxious all at once.

 

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” Akira muttered, more of that bruising purple spreading out against the floor tiles around them. Ryuji pulled his chin back.

 

“Stop that! I’m sick of everyone being sorry all the time. It happened, whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway, not with all this shit.” He swallowed, roughly. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you? That your face would be on TV and they’d find you?” Akira’s measured stare answered everything but left a pit in the center of his gut that swirled with too many unnamed things. “Why didn’t you just let me deal with him alone then?”

 

Akira’s measured expression warped, something complicated twisting his features, a flash of a darker colour than rage clouding behind his eyes. Ryuji flinched, almost instinctively, remembering the last time he’d seen that particular shade.

 

The air fell achingly blue, like a sky too heavy to rain. “You’ve given up more than anyone ever should,” Akira shrugged. “Seems like it should be someone else’s turn. Focus on resting up, okay? The team needs you.”

 

Ryuji frowned. “They need you too, obviously.” The wording made his heart lurch, something about the sad lilt to Akira's mouth, the way his eyes seemed duller than usual. He opened his mouth to ask and-

 

Voices echoed closer down the hall, Ryuji froze up as Shiho’s hands moved in some intricate pattern.

 

“-should put a camera or something in his room, in case that kid visits you know? Wow, to think that a teenager could be so…”

 

“Devious? Yeah, it’s terrifying. I’ll talk to the guards about stationing someone inside his room.”

 

Two suited men peeked in through the open door, all shark teeth and empty eyes. Ryuji read nothing but calculating disinterest from either. Fake empathy, all around produced businessmen.

 

“Mr. Sakamoto? Oh, good you’re awake." They hedged their way inside without so much of a warning, and completely ignored Shiho's presence. Ryuji hated them a little already. "We represent the Intercity Hero Foundation, I’m sure you’ve heard of us.”

 

Ryuji had, they were the money behind all the biggest heroes. Including the King. This was bad.

 

“We just wanted to extend our deepest condolences for the hardships you’ve had to go through this past year. Our company fully understands and is committed to supporting you through your rehabilitation, and we’d like to offer you an intern position when you’re rested up and feeling up to some new hero work!”

 

Ryuji hated them, his gaze flickered to Shiho’s; her grey buzz had warped into measured assurance. Her quirk was working, clearly, but Ryuji felt nothing but anger and absolute fear.

 

“Uh, for real?” He said, weakly. “I mean, that sounds amazing, but I’m uh. Gunna have to…” he thought back to his mom’s gentle hands and comforting words, something about taking it easy? About choosing his own path maybe? “Rethink…. My future goals. I guess?”

 

The man closest to him almost frowned but caught himself last second, Ryuji read his annoyance in HD. “Of course, and we don’t mean to pressure you while you’re recovering. However, we do understand that there were other factors involved in your… situation. Who would have guessed a fellow classmate could be undermining the school from the inside, right?" He grinned like it was all some kind of joke, the words didn't make sense to Ryuji's sparking circuit brain. He felt himself frown, the businessman closest grinned wider. A shark smelling blood in the water.

 

"UA is on some shaky ground right now. Bit of friendly advice? Don’t wait on calling us, it’s the best shot at having a real chance at this business you know? We want to represent you, so that Sakamoto can be a name that has it's time to shine int he sun!” The guy winked. Ryuji felt nauseous. 

 

He flicked a business card towards Ryuji, who shakily took it with his good hand. The two men smiled too widely at him for a moment, almost unblinking. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

 

The one near the foot of the bed tipped his hat. “We’ll let you rest up of course. Don’t hesitate to give us a shout if you see… or hear anything odd. We’re here to support you and your family, after all. We'll make sure everything is fine, don't you worry son.”

 

Ryuji smiled, tense and sweating, all the way up until they rounded the corner and their feet stopped echoing down the hall.

 

“Shit,” he gasped. “What the shit. Hell. They were, that was creepy as ‘eff.” He immediately snapped his gaze to Akira, who looked, hurt for a second. Strangely. "What the hell was all that rambling about UA and shit? Jeeze, who even let them in here? Mom's gunna be pissed..." 

 

Shiho sighed. “They... they're talking about Akira's quirk. That’s what they’ve been telling all the papers, to get you back to golden boy status. They’re saying you and Kamoshida were both pawns.”

 

Ryuji blinked, felt his heart stop and restart too fast. “What. The Eff.”

 

He was panicking, he realized. The hallway seemed to be looming, a wide-open maw grinning at them all. The night sky a comforting silence, like seeing the finish line and knowing you just had to take a few more steps, just had to push a little farther. But Akira wasn’t moving, the door was closing, the white hallway unbearably bright and exposing was swallowing him up. After everything they'd been through, everything Akira had helped with and saved him from. After Akira had somehow rewired Ryuji's shot to hell wiring, stopped him from his own sad swan song ending, from becoming everything he was afraid of.... Kamoshida was going to get away with a slap on the wrist after all. And Akira... Akira would... Ryuji wouldn't let that happen, no way. _No 'effin way._ He just, didn't understand why Akira wasn't halfway around the globe by now. _Why was he still here?_

 

“Akira, you gotta go; it’s shit this is all shit but. If you hide, I’ll- I’ll get Ann and uh, _Boss,_ and we’ll figure it out. Right Shiho?” His voice was cracking along ridges and fault lines. Ryuji hazarded a glance over at Shiho, only to catch her stiff shoulders and the spike of horror filled realization that hit her all at once. His voice faltered, anger dying instantly.

 

“Y-you…. Wait. Akira, what are you…” The night sky stretched farther and farther away, impossible now. The white light kept inching forwards, they were all swimming through molasses and understood something bigger than Ryuji could ever grasp. He was in a dream sequence with a coordinated ending around him, but he didn’t know the script. Akira’s eyes were pained, everything about the room turned a muddied grey mess of conflicting emotions. Pink soaring high above the rest only to crash down into heartbreaking indigo.

 

“Ryuji….” Akira whispered, once again reaching for him. Akira’s hand slid against Ryuji’s shaking one. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Wait,” he breathed.

 

Akira leaned in, pressed his lips carefully to Ryuji’s forehead. A wet drop hit Ryuji’s cheek, his heart broke in three places all at once. “I can’t keep running, they’ll just keep catching up and I’ll just keep dragging more people down with me. I just wanted to…” _say goodbye,_ Ryuji realized, horribly. Slowly.   

 

“No,” Ryuji thought he heard himself say, but it felt so distant. So unreal.

 

“What are you going to do?” Shiho spoke up after a long moment. Akira stepped back, his hand still on Ryuji’s.

 

“Akechi’s waiting for me, I sent him a message.”

 

“I’ll vouch for you, Akira. You don’t have to go, I’ll tell them what you’ve done to help, all of it!” Her shoulders were squared, her jaw locked defiantly. Every inch of her loyal to the bone. Ryuji’s eyes heated, burned and swam. Akira’s laugh was just as watery.

 

“You’ve been a great help Shiho, don’t throw away your future for me.”

 

“Don’t,” Ryuji gasped. _Don’t leave._ “Please, Akira- just. Just run, an-and it’ll all blow over, and everyone will realize how much of a hero you are and.” _We won, didn’t we?_ “God dammit Akira don’t do this.” Ryuji’s mind was stock reel footage of a warm night on a porch, just them and the fireflies, of a couch that could fit the whole gang, of a room with wide ceilings ready to catch all the colours and smiles and throw them right back. He thought of their fingers tangled together, of for once just breathing and staying where they were. Of Akira laughing, of Akira being happy.

 

_I just figured it out, I’m sorry I was so slow, but we could have time, we could-_

 

"Sorry Ryuji, not this time."

 

 _I'm in love with you, you self-sacrificing idiot, just wait. Just hold on,_ don't go _._

 

Akira’s smile was a star fading in the night sky. Heart break in slow motion _. I love you too, Ryuji_ he mouthed, as he took a step to the right and vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super behind in replying to all of your amazing comments but I just want you all to know I do read them all and they make my heart so warm and full! Sorry this chapter isn't the comfort it really deserved to be, but yanno, gotta have the secondary rising drama and whatnot, not like these kids have been through enough already ;) Also, really wanted to showcase more awesome Shiho action so, I hope you enjoyed!


	12. they say the camera adds ten extra complicated reveals, haven't you heard?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Showdown featuring a couple idiots and one extra panicked idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no excuse for how long this took me. Well, technically I have several but really it boils down to a really sincere apology. 
> 
> I'm fairly certain few people even read the author's notes (myself included) and nobody wants a sob story but yanno, it's been a time. Really though, I owe all the lovely commentors and bookmarkers more than that so I'm really sorry. I promised I wouldn't leave you all hanging and... yeah, school is busier than I thought, depression goblins are stronger, break ups are shitty, but I'm still gunna finish this, I said I would and I am. This isn't the last chapter but we're getting close, hope you guys are still stickin' with me.

Ryuji couldn’t breathe.

 

The white walls seemed all encompassing, exposing, alienating. Closing in on every angle, taunting him with the fact that there was no room to hide. A white stripe finishing line he was never going to be prepared for.

 

Shiho, through her shaking limbs was saying something to him, lost in the static overlay of _he’s gone, he’s_ gone _, he’s not coming back._ He could feel her hands on his, forcing his fingers to unclench, tethering him through the windstorm that plucked his tent pegs up one by one. Akira had left, he’d be thrown into the special villain quirk canceling prison, he’d never be a hero, they’d never listen to him. He was done, Ryuji was done. They’d gotten Kamoshida to confess, saved the school halls from more years of lies and hurt and. They’d lost everything.

 

Despite everything Ryuji had seen, everything he’d thought he’d known, he’d somehow managed to hold onto a frail naivety, now rudely thrown back at him and splintered in all the worst ways. He’d always believed somehow, that good people got good things eventually. That if you worked hard, were selfless, cared, the world would work itself out and everything would be okay.

 

The world didn’t care about anyone, though. It didn’t care how much you sacrificed, how hard you tried, it didn’t care about the pieces you broke off of yourself to build something else up bigger. It just took and took.

 

Akira would go to jail for saving him, for giving him back his chance at having a future at all. Kamoshida would start over again with the hits and the words and the smirks and nothing would ever change at all. The people who give their everything to make the world a little more fair get screwed over, and the world settles back into shit once again.

 

Another set of hands grabbed at him, a faint impression against the buzzing confusion that fed inwards from the blank white nothing around them. He blinked his wide eyes, slowly, too quickly. Everything falling out of time and stutter stepping back inwards too loudly and all at once.

 

“We can’t, he can’t…. Shiho!“

 

“I know, shh. Ryuji, I-I know. You have to calm down though, the heart monitor is-“ Her eyes were wide and wet, in the murky panic he could only grab her hand. His chest burned, a black hole forming in the center, ripping apart his ribs and compressing them into nothing. His bad leg _ached_.

 

Over the slowly building shrieking in his ears he could hear that damned detective kid, on the TV, his smirk palpable even without looking. “The criminal known as Akira has agreed to meet me here, at the front doors of the casino, to publicly hand himself over so the manhunt can stop. The agreement was for 7pm- soon we shall know if there truly is honor among thieves.”

 

“This is Channel 6 once again, rebroadcasting the Hero Detective, Akechi himself, with his breaking announcement. It is currently 6:41 in the evening, and the entire city waits with baited breath, to find out what will happen next. Will the criminal come forward? Will Detective Akechi apprehend the most terrifying criminal in our era? Stay tuned for updates, as we will be live all night, broadcasting for viewers at home and around the globe.”

 

Ryuji’s stomach burned and roiled. He hated that voice, that detective, Kamoshida’s cowardice, all of this. None of it mattered, not what the people said, what anyone thought. Akira was the best person he’d ever met, they had _everything_ all wrong.

 

“For-forget me! Get Akira, you gotta… someone has to stop him! He _can’t do this_!”

 

“I know, I know! I- shit!” Shiho swore loudly, letting go of Ryuji and turning towards the door. His vision was still swimming, narrowing into grey around the edges, but the stark surprise was a bright light in his chest. Kindling to the fading hope in his heart.

 

Over the past few months, with Akira and Ann and their whole shambled family, rebuilding himself up with their careful support, he’d learned a few things. Namely, that he really, really, needed to have more faith in the people that loved him. Namely, that people loved him.

 

And they also loved Akira.

 

Ann crashed into the room, all brimstone and promises of cinders, Futaba pushing a wheelchair along behind her. Yusuke, Makoto, and Haru barging in along beside them, Morgana squawking from his precarious position on top of the wheelchair to slow the hell down. Ryuji’s eyes met Ann’s.

 

“He’s _not_ doing this.” Ann growled. Ryuji wasn’t sure if she meant Akira or Kamoshida in that moment, either way he wholeheartedly agreed.

 

“We stick together,” Makoto nodded, and god, Ryuji had never seen the pure unfiltered rage so bright in her eyes. He could almost have fallen half in love at the sight alone. Haru grabbed her hand tightly and nodded, and Ryuji thought distantly that he loved all of them, in the kind of way that made it hard to breathe.

 

“If one of us goes down then we all do,” Yusuke chimed in.

 

“Guys,” he wheezed, dizzy with relief. Morgana appeared beside him on the bedside, blue eyes suspiciously watery, rolling with anxiety but the undercurrent of resolution knocked the air from his lungs entirely.

 

“I might not be able to heal all of this, but it’ll be enough. Get him in the wheelchair guys, we don’t have time.”

 

A wave of cool washed over him, all at once from his hand inwards. The grey faded back out, molasses and static pooling out of his toes onto the white tiles below him, he breathed in and the air caught and held.

 

“Thanks,” his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, basking in the respite Morgana’s quirk provided.

 

“-news, cameras are all set up. The time is 6:44, about 15 minutes out from the time set by the Detective Prince himself. Akechi is here, standing on the platform in front of where the crowd and cameras have gathered, and you can feel the tension in the air. This case all started when The King, Kamoshida, a teacher at UA, was caught and broadcasted assaulting the 16 year old up and coming hero Skull. Shortly after it was released that the King has been under the influence of the teenage criminal ring leader Kusuru Akira, and-“

 

The TV clicked off, Shiho stood with the remote in her hand, eyes hard and angry. Steel and fire. “We have 15 minutes to shut this down,” her voice barely rose above a whisper. “After everything he tried to do, for me? For all of us? Is that enough?” her shoulders slumped for a moment, a spike of uncertainty breaking through her careful buzz for a moment. The pale ice seemed to sink into all of his friends for a moment, making them hesitate. Ryuji frowned.

 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s enough, right? We gotta make it enough.”

 

Ryuji pushed himself up, bracing for the wave of aches and pains that seemed dulled and farther away. “We shut that criminal ring down, didn’t we? I faced my dad, Ann told Kamoshida right off? Between telling that smug mullet asshole off on live TV and whatever happened to all of my ribs, this is nothing.”

 

Ann smirked a little, her eyes shining. Futaba grinned, shark like and electric. “Hey, who knows, maybe you still have time to break a few more of them.”

 

Ryuji barked a laugh. “That’s the spirit.”

 

 

 

 

Six fifty rolled around, the mid spring weather turning biting with the fall of evening dusting at the edges of the shadowed streets. The streetlights casting rings of amber in hazy pools on crowded sidewalks. Wide eyes stayed locked onto every TV screen, every breath held, watching time tick closer.

 

Six fifty-five, Akechi turned to the camera, shoulders loose with easy confidence. Crowds shuffled impossibly closer, packed in behind police barricades, eager to catch a glimpse of the infamous Phantom Thief leader himself. Eager to say they’d seen him with their own eyes, with his blood-red gaze. They said he leeched into light like an unwilling shadow, like tar or ink spilling slowly onto a page. They said his eyes would flash moments before he crept into your soul, read all of your secrets, piloted your body like a parasite. They said he was a demon, a plague.

 

But what anyone would give to say that they’d been there, to watch the final showdown, right before they locked him up and threw away the key.

 

They said the streets would be safer, that every crime in the past two years could be traced back to him. The infamous antihero who’d taken down the King himself, turned their icon into a sniveling wreck, made him commit horrible atrocities, injure kids and students who trusted him.

 

They said.

 

Six fifty-eight, Akechi’s smile strained around the edges. “It appears as though our thief isn’t as willing to play along as I’d thought, dear audience. Cowardice is an unfortunate common trait between criminals.”

 

Six fifty-eight, a voice broke out.

 

“Watch your ‘effing mouth, Akechi!”

 

All eyes turned towards a blonde kid, bursting through the throngs of the crowd, pushed forwards by a blonde pigtailed girl and a gaggle of other teens in a wheelchair. The kid struggled to push himself out, taking one stuttering step while someone gasped out, “it’s him! It’s the kid from TV!”

 

Six fifty-eight, if anyone had been looking too close in the darkest shadows, the way your eyes play tricks if you stare too long at nothing, the darkness stretched out and back. An ebb and a flow. An instinctive reach outward, before pausing, like a heartbeat. Like a breath.  

 

Six fifty-nine.

 

 

 

Ryuji was livid. He was a lot of things, achy, tired from the pull of drugs and the constant exhaustion from moving in general. He was terrified, too, somewhere underneath it all. Not for himself, of course. A little for the brave teens behind him, who were broadly pushing themselves into the limelight along with him, allowing the thousands of cameras to focus on each of their faces. Allowing everyone to rip apart and disseminate their every action, grade, choice, connect all of it in impossible ways, justifying labels and all the other shit Ryuji had always understood.

 

Mostly terrified in the sort of way that made him hyper aware. Knowing with the weight of a lead ball inside of a black hole, that everything he said from this moment on mattered. That people would hear it in a way they never had before, that they’d remember it, and catalogue it, and bring it up years later in weird ways. Terrified, because for once, people were seeing him.

 

“It’s that Sakamoto kid!” Someone yelled, and Ryuji flinched instinctively, before catching the spark of soft lavender sympathy swirling around the shock. Sympathy. For him. No fear, no revulsion, just a solemn echoing sorrow. He could feel the moment thousands of eyes took in his battered sorry ass state, the way people gasped in the distance and muttered about _‘well, you heard what happened to_ him _, right?’_

 

For the first time in his life, people were seeing him. For the first time they heard the name Sakamoto, and they weren’t afraid of what he could do. They were afraid _for_ him.

 

And it didn't even mean anything. 

 

“Don’t talk about Akira like he’s some… some run of the mill criminal, asshole. You don’t even know him!” He stumbled forward another step, adrenaline high in his blood, singing him forward. “You’re up here spinning all these lies, for what? Screen time? Credit?” Akechi’s smile was frozen, his façade wasn’t nearly as good as Shiho’s and only ran skin deep. Ryuji could read every inch of surprise and panic snaking across his joints and locking him in place. It made him angrier, fear shoved somewhere irrelevant in the face of all of this god damned fan fare. He pointed a steady finger right at Akechi’s bewildered shaky grin.

 

“You’re just as bad as every other adult hero. All the ones who say they want to fight for the ‘little guy’, for the ‘less fortunate’, whatever other bullshit, when really all they want is a big paycheck and adoring fans to scream their name everywhere they go. Some _detective_. Some _hero_. You just want someone easy to pin this on, someone that’ll make all this shit make sense to people who want to believe heroes aren’t just glorified bullies.”

 

“Bullies?” Akechi’s gears seemed to unstick, his composure falling back into place like curtains over a stage show. Ryuji’s blood boiled. “This, coming from the boy with a villain for a father?”

 

“You know what?” Ryuji stepped closer. “I’m sick of this shit. Yeah, my old man was a villain, yeah, he beat the shit out of me as a kid, but you know what? Not a single, god damned, ‘effing hero ever stopped it.” He heard his voice crack, felt the sympathy and sorrow crest and crash, and he ignored all of it. His leg twinged, his skin roiled, Akechi twitched. “Maybe I thought I could change that, be the kind of hero that actually genuinely wanted to help everyone the best he could. I’ve spent every moment of my life trying to be better than he was, and for what? I get beat up once on cameras and suddenly everyone cares?”

 

Akechi scoffed. “Why are you here, Sakamoto? This is a police matter, you don’t have a hero license so-“

 

“I’m here, because you wanted a Phantom Thief, didn’t you?” His leg ached, but he stepped closer.

 

Akechi frowned, stunned.

 

“Yeah, you’re looking right at one. Sakamoto Ryuji. A _fucking_ Phantom Thief. So I’m asking you, Akechi. You gunna arrest the kid Kamoshida beat up? You gunna twist your logic around and tell everyone that Akira made Kamoshida kick the shit out of me? Then do it. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

The crowd gasped, an absolute chaotic storm around him, too much to pinpoint one particular emotion. A headache pulled at the back of his skull.

 

“Me too,” Ann spoke up, loud enough to break through the dull roar of whispers. She stepped up beside Ryuji and grabbed his hand, an anchor in the eye of the storm. “I’m a Phantom Thief. Two of us has to be worth more than just one, right?”

 

“I am a Phantom Thief as well,” Yusuke spoke up, stepping closer to Ryuji’s side and taking hold of his other hand, intertwining their fingers in a way that made his heart spike. _Oh,_ he thought for the second time in so many days. _Huh._

 

“So am I,” Makoto chimed in, steely voiced and sure. Lacking the usual panic he’d half expected. “And me!” Morgana chirped.

 

“I’m not officially in the group, yet, but I’m certainly happy to be an accomplice,” Haru added, and Ryuji caught the burst of pink from behind him and smiled.

 

“Oh, and me, obviously.” Ryuji caught Futaba’s happy wave from the corner of his eye. “Hi! Hello!”

 

Akechi was fully scared now, an edge of fear fully visible in the weights of his eyes, quirk or otherwise.

 

Ryuji stepped closer, his bad leg seized and he stumbled, and a pair of arms caught him.

 

“And me,” Shiho added. “And every student in the UA who Kamoshida ever threatened, harmed, or otherwise bullied into silence. We’re all Phantom Thieves because we believe in helping the people who nobody listens to, because we believe that heroes aren’t always right, that sometimes, they’re the _real_ villains. We’re Phantom Thieves because we believe Akira, and that he’s more of a hero than any of you.”

 

Ryuji stared up at Shiho’s absolute unwavering strength, at the confidence of these amazing people around him, at how readily they all put themselves on the line because they believed in the same things he did. Because they believed _him_ and Akira.

 

A shadow stretched into the light, the comforting blanket shrugging off to reveal a pair of golden eyes and a beautiful smile. “Might as well make it a full set.” Akira winked.

 

The clock ticked forward. Seven oh one.

 

 

 

 

 

There’s a part in a heroes story, where all the odds come together, where finally the world sees them in the light and understands their flawed conceptions, understands the hero fully as they are and accepts them. Ryuji had already had his moment, multiple moments, surrounded by a room of friends who didn’t think he was some second-string villain in the making, who didn’t look at him and make assumptions. He’d had another one, surrounded in a circle of high definition live rolling cameras, with everyone in the city and beyond staring at him unblinking, and watching his friends step forwards unhesitating to back him up. Ryuji thought the universe had at least deserved the same for Akira, that somewhere along all the shit that kept piling itself on his doorstep, there’d be a break. That there’d be a limit and then they could work on fixing it, on rebuilding.

 

Akira stepped forwards from the shadows seconds before the clock ticked onwards, fulfilling his bargain, with a smile. Ryuji didn’t know what he’d been hoping for, maybe that their grandiose speeches might touch some heart strings, maybe for a moment to explain. Maybe that somehow, someway, people would listen for once.

 

Akira stepped into the light, and the police swarmed forwards.

 

It was instantaneous, it was chaos. Between two breaths, everything stood frozen and still, and next, Akira was face down on the floor, three officers placing quirk canceling cuffs on him, injections lined up, a god damn boot pressing him into the dirt.

 

“Wait!” He shouted, and suddenly there were officers arms separating him from his friends too, pulling his arms back, ignoring the sling and the casts in a way that brought all of the overwhelming pain back.

 

“Stop! You’re hurting him!” Ann was shouting, and it didn’t matter who, because Ryuji could barely catch his breath but he caught Akira’s eye between two shoulders and saw the pain and it hit him too.

 

“He’s faking it,” some man said, “it’s planned, ignore it.” And someone pulled his arm a little too hard and he could feel it re- dislocating and, _holy shit that hurt_ , and he was pretty sure there was something horribly wrong with the way his nerves went white hot and his vision blanked out.

 

“Stop!” A voice roared out, but Ryuji was somewhere in-between pain and unconscious and only vaguely noticed the way the jostling stopped.

 

“Boss? What are you-“

 

“What kind of justice is this? Beating up a bunch of kids? Is this the city we live in now?”

 

Ryuji hissed through the pain, scrabbling desperately onto consciousness in a way that was awfully too familiar, and _god_ , wasn’t that pathetic.

 

“Did any of you stop to think that maybe these hooligans were actually right? No, of course not, tch.” The hands holding him let go all at once, he slammed into the ground in a way that pushed all the air out of his lungs with a groan. “Look at that! Moments ago, you were all sympathizing with this kid, making TV specials about how tragic his story was, and now you’re comfortable beating him up? Again? When he should clearly be back in the hospital? Let me ask you," Ryuji forced his hazy vision to focus, enough to see Sojiro, full costume and angry as hell, standing a few feet in front of him. "Who are the real villains here?" 

 

In the circle of lights flashing, he looked like an actual deity, the god of the pathetic. The patron saint of sad beat up kids.

 

“What I see, is a bunch of kids who saw something wrong, and wanted to fix it when everyone else was happy ignoring the problem. What I see, is a bunch of kids who couldn’t trust the adults who were supposed to protect them, to do their jobs.”

 

“How can you be so sure you’re on the right side?” Akechi spoke up, every inch as fake confident as he had been minutes ago. _Asshole._

 

“Because…. Because I have proof.” A quieter voice spoke up. Through the crack in Ryuji’s eyes, he saw Mishima step closer, shoulders hunched inwards, but something bright dancing around him anyways. _I’m not going to let this happen, Ryuji. I’ll be brave, for you guys. For the Phantom Thieves._

 

“You- what?”

 

Mishima tilted his head up. “Kamoshida made me use my quirk for years, he threatened my scholarships, my future, and my family if I didn’t. But I didn’t erase the emails like he told me to. I…. I kept everything on a USB. Just in case I…. in case someone cared. In case someone cared enough to help.”

 

Ryuji felt rather than saw the eruption of confused fear that swarmed everywhere behind him.

 

“Kamoshida was not manipulated by some demon teenager like you’ve all been saying. He did everything of his own volition, because he’s frankly, a disgusting awful human being. I retired from hero duty because I was tired of nothing anyone was doing making any sort of difference. I had a daughter who needed help, and despite all of my supposed strength, I could do nothing. So, I figured, if I couldn’t help the people closest to me, how could I help anyone.”

 

“Dad…” Futaba whispered nearby, all tear logged and heartbroken. She sounded so, so proud too, though. Achingly and full heartedly proud, Ryuji blinked back tears of his own at the strength of it. Sunlight breaking through clouds behind him. 

 

“But I realize now, stepping down from being number one hero was the biggest mistake I could have made. Because if there’s nothing I can do, then all that matters is what I do. Because if people who care about helping aren’t there to help, like with Sakamoto, like with my daughter, then no one does. Kamoshida isn’t a good person just because he has the power to be one, because he never chose to help. And none of you are good people just because you believe you are, if you don’t choose to help too. I’m old and tired, but I can’t retire until I know this city is in better shape than this. Than to scapegoat a bunch of teenagers instead of fixing. Their. Shit.”

 

“But, his quirk, how can you-“

 

Sojiro scoffed. “What kind of school do you take us for? When Akira signed up, we had his quirk tested thoroughly, and not once did we get any indication of any sort of ability to control anyone without them knowing, or stealing souls, or whatever other witch hunt garbage you’ve been spewing. You’ve got quite an imagination there, mullet. Not much of a career ahead of you though, it seems, jumping to conclusions like that.”

 

A murmur rose up through the stunned silence, onlookers slowly processing Sojiro’s word with a rising guilt. Ryuji struggled upright, pushing the guards arms off of him. He finally stole a glance Akira’s way, catching the purpling bruises spreading up from his cheek, the dulled look in his wide eyes. _They drugged him,_ he realized with dawning disgust. _Right here on TV, they just pushed him down and drugged him like a wild animal! "_ Akira," he muttered, his own helplessness in the face of all this bullshit nearly choking him. He had been surprised to see Sojiro, but he shouldn't have been. Of course this brave, charming, selfless kid had won over the old man too. Of course the careful teasing way he interacted with Futaba would warm Boss' heart. Of course the number one hero would return and save them all. To save Akira, but for once, Ryuji too. 

 

“He’s just a kid!” Someone argued in the distance, and, like the other shoe finally dropped, everyone’s hushed surprise turned red. Righteousness bleeding through every corner, guilt floating loudly on top.

 

“Let him go!” Someone yelled, and suddenly people were pushing past the barricades, jeering and yelling. Ryuji caught something about Ryuji’s past, about Makoto’s high reputation. All these words and words justifying, covering it up.

 

Akechi’s roiling emotions were acidic. “Sounds like you lost.” Ryuji smirked, pretending the fake words around him weren’t their own kind of ricocheting hailstorm. He could feel his eye beginning to swell and faintly wondered when he’d been hit in the face, or if his mom was at home watching TV, worrying. “Give it up asshole, you can’t pin this one on Akira. Not like last time.”

 

A bolt of indignation flashed across the myriad of bubbling colours, a pinprick of pain behind Ryuji’s temple. “He ran! He’s guilty!”

 

“I never ran,” Akira said, quiet as a whisper but as loud as a gun firing. The bruised side of his mouth painful and slower, slurring his words. His eyes stayed dull. “Your father told me to leave town. Threatened me, actually. Said he’d go after my parents if I ever showed my face there again. Guess it made it easier to make me look guilty.”

 

Ryuji blinked, slow and hard with half his face burning and swelling outwards. He caught everything in half speed moments, in fractals scattered around like clues. Something in the shock sparking outwards from Akechi's open palms, from the fear twisting into something less bad on his lips. Something in the tendrils of relief wrapping their way across his throat. The vials on the ground, labelled with a company he couldn't understand, but remembered from an almost dreamlike conversation, months ago.

 

And then, in glaring HD definition, Ryuji gasped. “Wait, his _father_?”

 


	13. Happiness is when you're right beside me, said the colon to the parentheses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji, for the longest time, understood four key things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! Finally! I staved off my emotional state with the combined strength of all your kind comments and finally figured out how I wanna end this baby. But yanno, don't fret. You may notice this is part of a series, so. I have more in mind if you're interested in reading anyway :P   
> Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me on this and for being so enthusiastic and supportive, I appreciated all of your kind words so, so much. And still always do! Anyways, I hope this fluffy chapter is a good apology <3

Shockingly, announcing that the news media darling detective everyone had gathered around their TV’s for was corrupt, made for a lot of upset people. A _lot_ of upset people. For once though, Ryuji noted with a dazed sort of giddiness, they weren’t mad at him, which was weird. He almost didn't know whether to be happy or uncomfortable. Almost. 

  
Turns out, Akechi’s father was an asshole; a rich man who didn’t take no for an answer, the same asshole who’d tried to ruin Akira’s life for trying to do the right thing. And, he was a politician who’d lied and manipulated and used his own son to thin out the competition. Akechi hadn’t said so himself, but Akira knew. Akira had known from the instant Shido had looked at him. Because his shadows had reacted instinctively, had tried to protect Akira from the threat present in the other man's eyes, because Akira had let himself feel afraid.

 

Akira knew everything.

 

But the world was so ‘effed up that he hadn’t had anyone to tell; no one to believe him or stop Shido’s inevitable rise to Prime Minister status, because Shido only had a mild dazzle quirk, how could he be dangerous? How could he have been threatening to a kid with a villain quirk? To someone who could steal hearts?

  
“Your father got you to manipulate people, to make them scared, paranoid. Make them snap at people and hide, to turn themselves into a mockery. You ruined their reputations, their lives, all of it. Because he made you.” Akira’s voice was soft, but in the dead silence it rang like retribution. His eyes were still glazed, the grey buzz around him almost painful. Looking directly at it made Ryuji sleepy almost, detached. Drugged.   “He never cared about you as a son, you knew that too. He was going to get you locked up the second he had the power to. Which is why we’re here right now, isn’t it.” 

  
Akechi was pale, eyes downcast behind his bangs. Ryuji could read so many different emotions, embarrassment yes, mortification, sure. But slowly rising to the surface was a violent out pour of relief. His grimace cracked into a smile, a jagged painful thing. 

  
“You got me all figured out, huh? I never could put my finger on you, but this whole time…” He trailed off, shaking his head. "This whole time, you knew everything. And here I was, a willing, stupid pawn." 

  
“Your father did awful things,” Haru spoke up suddenly, Ryuji couldn’t see her through the crowds of police, but he could hear the waver in her voice, the slow click of realization dawning around where she stood. “I could never understand why he’d hurt my family the way he did, but. If you did all of this for recognition, I think I can sympathize, just a little. That doesn’t mean you don’t have a choice, still. You have an amazing ability and-“

  
“You don’t understand,” Akechi cut her off, shaking his head. “My quirk, it’s the kind only villains have. Controlling emotions isn’t something that the UA would ever accept beyond support class, and that was never enough for my father. I never had a choice.”

  
“Bullshit!” Ryuji frowned. “Did you forget who you’re talkin’ to? My father was a villain, like the full on 'costume and a nickname and murdered people' type of villain. Everyone thought I would be too, because if I get a little too pissed off suddenly I’m exploding everywhere. But you know what?” Ryuji glanced at Akira again, irrevocably drawn to him for support maybe, or just to make sure he heard every word. Akira still looked blank, unfocused like staring through a fingerprint on a glass, but he was smiling slightly, like a secret. He looked back over to Akechi with a new resolve, fists tightening and back straightening like he was wearing the worlds strongest armor, and nothing any of these eyes on him could do would stop him.  He was Skull, he was broken bones rebuilt stronger, he was the one who'd stared down the number one hero twice and hadn't backed down. He wasn't afraid of one mullet totin' weasel looking sunnuva jerk. 

  
“You always have a choice, and you’ll always find someone who believes in you, man. But even if no one does yet, proving everyone right just makes you feel shittier and shittier until all that’s left is someone real bitter and lonely. You gotta do it for yourself even if the whole worlds against you.” 

  
Akechi roiled with shame, with some sort of quiet acceptance, like a turbulent sea freezing solid overnight. It was a sudden pale blue gray amongst a hurricane of neon sickly green, Ryuji caught his breath. 

 

“I…. he said I would be, that I’d turn into a villain if he didn’t direct me. I was alone and they all said-”

  
“You don’t have to be what everyone says you are,” he felt his palms turning upright, an olive branch maybe. Or maybe he was tired of being the poster child for everything, maybe he thought Akechi was tired too. “But if you give up? If you start hurting people just because you’re hurting? That’s when you reach the bottom, right? Nobody can make you decide to try except you.” 

  
Akira smiled, a twitch of his bruised lips despite his glazed over eyes, a real full smile. Ryuji felt it against the press of his ribs, a flower between the pages of a journal. He'd been where Akechi stood, once. But he'd found someone who believed him, and it had been enough to dig his fingers in and climb to the surface and nothing could ever make him stop climbing. Akechi would find that too, he was sure of it. 

  
The Detective Hero looked for all the world like the floor had fallen under him, wide eyed and stunned, frozen. A scared little kid in over his head, instead of the enigmatic suave hero that had nearly haunted Ryuji's every nightmare for like, forever. The police around him all hesitated, suddenly radiating unease and guilt. Ryuji felt a spark of wild relief, a brilliant comet of something disbelieving formulating in his gut. A moment of seeing the break in the storm clouds above, a lull in the gale winds. The tides were turning, for once in his favor. Akechi didn't control the storm surge anymore, he was just some debris along for the ride. A kid who'd wanted his parents approval so badly he'd lost everything, he was a house with no walls. Ryuji almost, _almost_ felt bad for him, remembering a kid who'd once been nearly pulled away by the same riptide. His leg ached. 

 

"I.....I understand." Akechi said eerily monotone, and seemed to finally remember the cameras, the eyes staring from a million different sets and places all at once, waiting. He turned robotically, wide eyed and blank. A choked off laugh pulled from him almost painfully, an echo of his usual confident persona, and for a second Ryuji's gut dropped.

 

_No,_ he thought desperately, hopelessly, _god damn you, no!_

 

Akechi tilted his head, his back to Ryuji, and raised his arms outwards in front of him, slowly. Too slowly, Ryuji felt frozen. He waited for the other shoe to drop, for the second hand to tick past midnight and all the confidence he'd built like scraps to fall away, the armor he was wearing to poof into a pumpkin. For Akechi to tear it all down in front of them anyway. He shot a desperate glance at Boss, who's brows were furrowed, apprehension like a thick line across his shadowed frown.

 

Akechi drew a long breath, "Well then. With all the evidence laid out in front of us, the conclusion is inescapably clear." _Move,_ Ryuji thought angrily at himself, _do something! Don't just stand there!_ But he felt it, the awful sink in his chest, the knowledge he'd played his ace already. That none of them had nothing left up their sleeves, no last surprise waiting in the wings. They were sunk, this was really it.

 

Akechi laughed again, a sad chuckle, no one dared breathe. "I've been chasing after Akira this whole time, believing that catching the Horrid Teen Criminal would finally bring me the happiness I'd never known. But the truth was staring me in the face all along, I was just too cowardly to see it. A coworker of mine once told me that the best quirks weren't about skills or strength, but about people who took a stand even when no one was standing with them. That bravery meant more than anything else combined." Something in Ryuji's memory twitched, a lady with grey hair and a bright light, his legs too short to meet the tiled floor. 

 

"If the Phantom Thieves want to show the world what heroes really are, bad or good.... Then as of today. I am also a Phantom Thief." 

 

"Me too!" A young voice called out, as a young kid ducked under the barricade and into the circle of cameras. "I'm a Phantom Thief too." 

"So am I!" A lady in a business suit joined him. "And me!" A buff looking dude with a leather vest joined in. 

 

  
All at once, the crowd picked up. The silence shattering apart instantaneously as thousands and thousands of voices joined in. A thunderous roar of solidarity and support, for once, pushing outwards, and Ryuji at the peaceful center. 

 

Suddenly people were pushing past the barriers, jumping over guardrails and pouring in, pushing back the police and surrounding the Phantom Thieves like a barricade. Someone clapped Ryuji’s shoulder, someone else shook his hand, Ryuji felt frozen too. He was wrapped in ten thousand layers of cellophane and existing in a simulation, his arms weren’t his, his thoughts existed in block letters near him, but they weren’t connected. Every touch felt light years away. His body ached and groaned in a way that hit him like a check engine light on a car.

  
“You did good, kid,” Ryuji glanced up to see Boss smiling at him, in his usual tired and slightly sarcastic way. He radiated a bitter warmth, a complicated bundle of resentment and pride. Something a little like brick laid layers of jaded crystallized frustration and a lot like absolute affection and confidence, like staring at a sunset just kissing the clouds and knowing the sunrise would be even more brilliant. 

  
Ryuji blinked at him, and glanced over at Akira, through the throngs of bodies, all making their way to create a human wall between the police and the would be criminals. The sunrise of all Akira's bravery and hope nearly blinding in the chaos and with a silent crescendo, Ryuji understood. He caught Ann’s gaze, her watery star struck aura, the absolute love pooling around her smile as her hands wrapped around Shiho’s. She smiled, a wild relieved thing, and Ryuji felt another sunrise bloom between the two girls too. He caught a glimpse of Makoto and Haru, hugging tightly and shaking. Yusuke, smiling to himself. Futaba wrapping an arm around Mishima, who looked ten different shades of shell shocked. Morgana, carefully nudging under Akira’s arm and radiating concern in the typical Morgana way. 

  
“Yeah. We did,” Ryuji nodded, feeling his head floating practically off his shoulders.

  
He was proud too, in a way that was stronger than he knew what to do with. That they managed to do the impossible, somehow despite everything, they managed to convince the world that heroes weren't always right. By fluke, awful coincidence and several accidents, but with Ryuji involved, he figured that was a given. 

 

The crowds had pushed the police officers farther out of their circle, a man turned towards him over his shoulder and nodded at him. The police chief was calling for order, for the civilians to step back, and it sounded like someone had stolen the megaphone, because an even louder shout drowned him out. 

“We’re all Phantom Thieves! You’ll have to arrest all of us! We stand with Sakamoto!”

  
He jerked back, stunned. "We stand with Sakamoto!" a hundred voices joined in, smiling and nodding back at him like he was a beacon of hope in the darkness, like the streetlamps weren't strong enough. There was a brighter color surrounding them, something so impossibly comforting and warm he couldn't explain it in a way that made sense. It felt like cafe's and falling and knowing someone was there to catch you. It felt like summer skies and worried eyes and knowing exactly what to say. 

_They believed him_ , he realized, a watercolour drop inching its way across a white canvas. _They all, actually, believed him. Him, Ryuji. They were listening. To_ him. 

  
Ryuji turned slowly, caught Akira’s dazed eyes, and felt a tear cut a burning line down his bruised cheek. 

  
The layers of cellophane fell away, ripped off him like duct tape and he felt stretched out, pulled thin. He could feel his legs shutting down in slow motion, the aches and pains of everything speeding up as he ran in reverse, thoughts accumulating and evaporating too quickly to follow.  Ryuji grinned, wider than he ever had before and so, so glad, and abruptly, the concrete reached out to catch him.    


 

 

Ryuji dreamed of nothing, of everything. Akira standing in the window of a hospital room and never coming back, a sea of hands and faces pulling Ryuji a hundred different directions, a glaring light, a cone that swept the darkness in slow circles. He dreamt of a flower shop, of locked safe doors, of determination that rose up in waves like steam from a tea mug. Ann, holding his hand and telling him to run, that he was the only one who could. 

"You have to," she said, and she was smiling but Ryuji felt only the cold sweat down his back. "Ryuji, your legs haven't touched the ground yet." 

 

  
  
“You really need to stop passing out on me,” a familiar voice startled him, Ryuji snapped his eyes open. He was staring at a roof, his roof. His gaze tracked slowly to the side, catching his messy sports posters he’d half torn down, the pile of untouched notebooks by his desk, the collected trinkets and photos his friends had given him all taped to the cupboards and bulletin boards. Finally, he slid his gaze towards a fondly smiling face. 

  
“Akira!” He gasped, and nearly jolted upwards until Akira’s hand pressed lightly against his sternum. 

  
“Hey, you,” Akira smiled wider, golden streams of light from his window catching his glasses and obscuring his eyes. 

  
Ryuji gaped, taking in the bruises and red marks swelling around Akira’s cheeks and neck with all the processing power of an ancient run-down computer that was wired all wrong. Akira chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s worse than it looks.”   


 

A choked wheeze punched through him as he struggled to explain his disbelief. “It looks ‘effin horrible, dude!” 

  
Akira’s hand hadn’t left his chest, he realised distantly. His other hand reached up to push his glasses up, the reflection shifted, and Ryuji was suddenly staring into Akira’s dark eyes. “Yeah, well. You should see the other guy,” he was still smirking, but somehow his voice was lighter. Happier. Bright gold shimmering with blue. Ryuji’s brain felt stuffed with socks, but. Something was...

 

Ryuji blinked. “Oh! Oh, shit, do we have to run? Did they- Akechi’s a piece of shit I knew he’d- we gotta go, right? I can get up, I swear I-“

  
Akira’s smirk faded into something softer, the glitter around him shifting into comforting rose hues. “No one’s running, take it easy, okay?” Akira’s hand reached up and smoothed through Ryuji’s bangs. “Akechi dropped the charges. Told the news media he had the wrong guy, that we were a brave bunch of kids about to take the fall for nameless heroes because we knew the system was broken. Something like that anyways. Don’t know how many people actually believe him, but, since they can’t arrest all of Japan…” 

  
“Wait, all those people actually..?”

  
“Something close to 300 people, from what I heard. All claiming to be the 'actual phantom thief himself'. It’s a little dramatic, if you asked me, but sweet all the same.”

_   
_ _300 people, all of them standing up for Akira_. _Wow_. Ryuji didn’t know what to feel. Relief, probably. Grateful, in some reluctant way. After years of nothing but slammed doors and sneers, he figured he was probably a little justified. He snorted softly, “you live for dramatic shit, you kiddin’ me?” He shook his head carefully. “Uh, that’s awesome and all don’t get me wrong but… what about the whole leavin’ thing? Don’t tell me that’s still happening.”

  
Akira’s grin was breathtaking. “Nobody’s going anywhere. Not for a long time.”

 

Ryuji could have cried, the wild star in his chest grew so bright it hurt. He barked a surprised laugh, absolutely glowing. “Thank god... Oh man, that's-so you…. You’re staying, right?” _Please?_ He thought, a little pathetically. 

  
Akira’s fingers carded through Ryuji’s bangs, so gently and fondly. “I have to go back home to fill out paper work and my parents want to have some apology dinner, but. I'm coming back, don't worry. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” 

  
A warmth trailed down by Ryuji’s ears, and he realized he was crying. Again. Embarrassing, but honestly, he couldn’t possibly care less.  He choked back a sob, the glowing feeling nearly bursting right through him. “And… and Kamoshida?”

  
“Akechi refuted everything Kamoshida said, told everyone he’d collected enough evidence on ‘the King’ while searching for the Phantom Thieves he could back up every claim. Got stockpiles of texts that Mishima saved, verified all the screenshots. Time stamps from before I’d even moved here, everything." Akira's eyes were so warm, Ryuji's heart broke and rebuilt like the swell of a wave. "He’s done, Ryuji. You did it.”

  
"You mean we did it!" He sniffed, loudly and disgustingly. It was getting harder and harder to see Akira’s expression; his eyes were swimming. “God, I’m so glad… I just, the hell man, I.... I- I’m s-so glad.” 

  
“Hey,” Akira soothed, all soft and light like he was talking to a baby bird and not his snivelling best friend. “Shh, it’s all over. You’re safe, he’s gone, you’re okay.” 

  
“I’m so glad… you're stayin' yanno? A-and...you’re okay,” Ryuji finished, his throat constricting so tightly it ached. He couldn’t see Akira’s face through his tears, but he could feel the moment Akira heard him. The gentle colours burst outwards in pinks and so much adoration it nearly winded Ryuji. _Oh_ , his heart beat loudly, he knew what that was now. 

  
Before, he’d been so scared to admit it. To let someone in maybe, or maybe he was worried he would be sticking his bad luck and busted heart into someone else’s life and messing it up. Someone like Akira, who was so caring and so handsome and so charming he almost didn’t seem possible sometimes. 

  
But he’d almost lost him, too. 

  
Being afraid seemed so secondary now, so stupid. It didn’t matter if it was hard, or if it meant he had to believe people weren’t going to leave or get tired of him or that he’d mess up, because he wanted to try. He wanted to try and learn and be better and better every day until he was the person Akira saw in him. He wanted to make Akira proud, and be with him every step of the way and every time Akira stole his breath away. He wanted to be right here, both of them with the golden dazzling light and the pinks and the comets, right here where those brown eyes looked so warm and happy. 

  
He wanted to make Akira happy, every damn day, for as long as he was able to.  

  
“Akira, I…”

 

"Shh, I know." Akira smiled, and leaned over to press his lips against Ryuji's softly. His lips were dry, Akira's were so impossibly soft, they were both crying and probably gross as hell, but. Ryuji melted, his heart a spilled paint can continuously refilling. It was perfect.  Akira pressed their foreheads together, his hand cradling Ryuji's cheek. 

 

"Sakamoto Ryuji, I have wanted to kiss you for a long, long, time."

 

Ryuji's face was molten lava, all he could see was pink and roses. He'd never been happier in his entire life.  "Why not do it again then," he blurted. Akira grinned. Ryuji was so in love his chest hurt. 

 

  
“Ryuji!” Ann’s voice cut through the happy haze, Ryuji glanced up to see her slam through the door followed immediately by all of his friends, peeking over her shoulder and crowding into the door way like a clown car. “Don’t do that ever again, you jerk!”    
She stormed over to him, eyes flashing dangerously with a muddied cloud of conflicted emotions, Ryuji held his hands up. 

  
“Hey, what did I do!”

  
She leaned over with viper like quickness and pulled him into the tightest hug of his life faster than Ryuji could think. “You passed out and we were so worried, and you didn’t wake up and-“ She sniffled loudly into Ryuji’s collarbone. “You are the bravest idiot I’ve ever met.” 

  
Ryuji slowly lowered his hands, bunching handfuls of her sweater in his hands as he hugged her back just as tightly. The events of the past few days finally catching up to him and leaving him slightly breathless. “We…. We were on TV, and… Ann, holy shit.”   
She laughed, watery and warbly, “you should see the news, that’s all they’ve been showing. You and your speech, and Mishima, and Shiho! Ohmygod, Ryuji, I love her so much.” 

  
“Shiho is incredible, man.” He laughed back. "So are you."

  
“Stop it you too,” Shiho muttered, Ryuji could feel her embarrassed and pleased smile like a warm beam of sunlight against his cheeks.

  
“I can’t believe how cool you were, goober! Telling everyone off like that on TV?” Futaba whistled, leaning around Ann’s shoulders to grin a t him and shoot a thumbs up with a wink. “Definitely going to love all the forums plastered with your face on everything, it’s already huge so.” 

  
Ryuji groaned, and let go of Ann enough to throw an arm across his eyes, still sniffly. “Never mind, actually, everything is terrible.” 

  
Futaba giggled, and poked his arm. “Seriously, though. That was incredible.” 

  
“I for one am positively enthralled, that moment was so powerful. The moonlight, the anger. Truly, Ryuji does represent the best of heroes.” 

  
Ryuji blushed, a lot. “Shuddup… You guys were all there too, who cares about one delinquent kid ramblin’ in front of everyone anyway.”

  
“As much as it pains me to say,” Morgana chirped, all fake annoyance and exasperation. Ryuji didn’t have to see the summer blue skies to find the smile on Morgana’s fluffy cheeks. “You’re really not. They don’t let delinquents into the hero program, you know.”

  
Ryuji almost rolled his eyes, “Delinquent general track kids are the usual though.”

 

“Ryuji,” Makoto spoke up, radiating beams of giddy orange yellows. “You’re not in the general track.”

  
“I… what?” He frowned, then paused. He moved his arm and glanced up at everyone. Ann had moved back, but she was still leaning towards him on the bed, biting her lip to keep from grinning. Futaba snickered, Yusuke looked quietly pleased, Haru peered over his shoulder and blinked. 

  
“They’re saying you were accepted into the program, silly! You have a letter here that explains it all perfectly. It really is cruel to leave him hanging on something so exciting, you know!” She wagged her finger at Makoto who just grinned back. More openly and honestly than Ryuji had ever seen her, which, was just heart melting actually. His brain stuck, gears churning like rusty broken-down pieces of junk. 

  
“Wh- why would they….” He looked over to Akira, still seated beside him, soft and honest like always. “For real?” He whispered, voice fading into nothing with a hope that felt too fragile floating in the spaces between his friends grinning faces. 

  
“It’s real, Ryu,” His mother called, pushing gently into the room. Tears lined her cheeks, but she was all radiant fractured lights and rainbows, spiralling outwards in crayon swirls and sepia toned memories tucked away for safe keeping. “You’re a hero, Ryuji. Like I always knew you were.” 

  
The moment felt packed full, air sealed in a way that he knew he’d never forget as long as he lived. Glittering gold and rainbow comets splashing across more love and happiness than he’d ever hoped to have, more than he’d ever thought he could ever deserve. And for once, he didn’t dare try to question any of it. Just held it close to his heart and let himself believe he was enough. 

 

 

  
  
Ryuji had, for the longest time, understood four key things.

  
One, in life, hope was everything.

  
People could be cruel and selfish, and luck could pile up in awful ways, but there was always something to believe in, something nobody could take from you. Something only you could show the world, and prove ‘em wrong. 

  
Two, as long as you were brave, and knew what you stood for, nothing was set in stone. Once, everyone had believed Ryuji would be a villain, they’d thought he was dangerous. A delinquent kid from a delinquent turned super villain father with no future. Once, Ryuji had believed them. Then he’d met a boy with eyes that flashed in the dark and a careful grey nothing that hid more compassion than anyone he’d ever known, and a girl with a heart like a raging bonfire and courage as fierce as a lion, and a whole group of friends who’d found something in him and in each other that was stronger than whatever box anyone tried to fit them into.

 

Ryuji had once been bitter and trapped, almost useless except for the way he black hole’d everything positive around him into something twisted and broken. He’d once let everything anyone said germinate in him and grow out through his veins. And then... he’d been brave. He’d stood in front of the whole world and decided he was tired of letting everything turn to shit in front of him, and he’d demanded that it change instead, and his friends had stood alongside him.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t always work out, maybe sometimes being brave wasn’t enough, but it was a start. It was always a start.

 

Third, like his mother had always said, especially when she’d kissed his cheeks and cried and told him she’d always loved him more than the sun loved the stars, that there was always something good. Ryuji had found it, or maybe he’d just opened his eyes and let himself keep what was there in front of him. His mother, his friends. Maybe he'd just learned how to love all the twisted and bruised parts of himself and put himself back together, with a little encouragement sure. Maybe he'd just needed someone to tell him they saw something good in him.

 

Someone like his boyfriend, who kissed him like every day was a treasure, who made him feel braver and more positive, and bright like a highlighter on a white page. His boyfriend who’d asked him out with his usual confident smile the exact moment Ryuji had tried to ask him. “You’ve always been able to read me so well,” Akira had laughed, as if Ryuji wasn’t struck silent with awe by the entire thing. It had taken all of two weeks for Ryuji to tell him what he’d known for so long, and for Akira to nod in his usual charming/shy way and say he’d always been able to read Ryuji too. “You know,” Akira’s smile was waking up in the summer, warm mugs on a cold night, your favorite movie on a rainy day. “I could have looked that day in the field, when I…., well, I didn’t. But I knew, because I knew I loved you too.”

 

His boyfriend who lived a few towns over but visited once a month for a whole weekend, who charmed a retired Symbol of Peace turned Grumpy Principle like Sojiro, enough that he'd started calling Akira his adopted nephew whenever he visited. His boyfriend who was the most charming, dorky, cool but weird person Ryuji had ever met. Someone his mom had met once and immediately loved. Someone who turned his whole life upside down in an instant and never for a moment let him fall.

 

Maybe Ryuji had just wanted something to believe in, but instead he'd found several someone's to believe in him, too. 

 

Fourth, as Ryuji walked the stage years later, in front of the world again after years of proper internship and wild adventures and near terrible ends, he’d still believe the world was worth helping. That somebody somewhere would need a hand, and he’d be there. The world could decide to turn their backs on him and Akira and the Phantom Thieves all they wanted, Ryuji would face the odds as many times as it took, because somewhere out there was a kid who needed a hero. And Ryuji would always, always be there to help. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got one more epilogue chapter cookin' up for you guys! Happy Halloween and I hope you know I appreciate each of you more than I appreciate my backspace key and copious amounts of chocolate.


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what we call, one helluva full circle. Happy endings include additional sappiness on the side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeeze, I'd apologize for the wait but I'd just sound like a broken record. Merry belated holidays, here's a happy sappy ending and a happy new year to all of you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me on this wild ride, can't believe I started writing this almost two years ago now, yikes. 
> 
> Fics often come from emotional places for a lot of people, but this one in particular is always going to be sort of wrapped up in a lot of really important messages I had to learn, and writing this bad boy really helped me solidify them. I'm always going to be grateful for the support and kindness all of the lovely commentors, bookmarkers, readers, and kudos givers have given me in return. If there's anything super cheesy I can give anyone reading this here, it's that you're all brave in uniquely you ways, and nobody could have quite overcome everything you have the exact same way that you did. You made it this far and I'm so proud of you. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading, it means so much to me! There'll be spin off stories in the future, maybe even a mini story here and there, but it's a weird complicated feeling to be closing the door on this one. Mostly happy with a little bit of 'I've signed the paper work, Ryuji is my son and he's all grown up and off to college' thrown in there. Hope you've all enjoyed this wild ride as much as I've enjoyed writing it :)

 

“Sakamoto! Hurry up!”

 

Ryuji barked out a laugh, tightening up his laces one last time. The little voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Haru wanted him to look presentable on his first day after all. With his cropped hair, several piercings, and tattoos sprawling up and down his arms, he felt like there wasn’t really a way primly tied laces would change anything. Back in the day, he would have purposely left his shoes a mess and his hair all spiked, and bed head ridden, just to say he could. He’d have wanted everyone to know exactly where he stood so he didn’t have to bother trying to speak to anyone, bitterness stacked high in his chest like a weapon.

 

“Ryuji!”

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He called back, shark grin and shaky excitement. It took a moment to push himself up, bad leg aggressively voicing its complaints as always, now accompanied with a few other odds and ends in cranky chorus. He was lucky his leg wasn’t unhappier with him, it had been a long day already of climbing stairs and standing around making dreaded ‘small talk’. His nerves thrummed like a comet in his veins, though. Sparkling space dust cascading in the dimples and divots of his cheeks, probably.

 

He pushed through a pair of red doors and held his breath as the memories slammed full force.

 

Something about remembering forgotten things, details that hadn’t seemed important but just swept the nostalgia into your bones like a chisel, one layer at a time. The way the hallway air felt like long days of wishing he could feel nothing at all, the winding lockers like goal posts to the roof top door, the way the sunlight through the window sills seemed frozen in place, like if he moved it would flutter away. Something about returning to a place that had changed his life, more than once for good and bad; something a little like melancholy and a lot like sepia toned gratefulness peppering his heart with hummingbird wings.

 

He blinked, forced himself to look up and catch Ann’s smile. “It’s a lot the first time, right?”

 

Ryuji swallowed hard, nodded, “For real.”

 

She sighed. “Yeah, happened to me too. Can’t believe how different things were, but it's still all the same too.” Her lips tilted upwards, with a wink. “Come on, you’re just around the corner here. Kawakami’s old office.”

 

Ryuji followed silently, mind whirling. He’d expected it to look different, maybe. It did in little ways, a TV here and there probably from the budget increases, newer tiles in the main hallways. Peeking into the classrooms told him they’d replaced the old desks, gotten some of those fancy touch screen boards in some rooms. Overall, it looked like how he’d left it. Maybe shifted a little, like he’d gone to sleep for 10 years and woken up with everything moved slightly to the left, so he kept banging his shins on the coffee table. But the same. He wasn't sure if that made him happy or sad. 

 

A group of kids walked passed, chatting and gossiping with each other. A blue haired kid with spikes cheered loudly and several classmates laughed and Ryuji just, stopped. Legs freezing mid stride as his chest suddenly felt too hot and too tight.

 

“Ryu?” Ann called, softly now. Her eyes were all blue and round, concern etching paths against her skin. “Do you need a break? We can start with the outside, there’s a garden up on the roof now. Would you believe that? Yusuke would love it-“

 

“They were so…” Ryuji’s voice cracked, he shook his head blankly. Searching for words he never was able to find properly in all his 28 odd years. The kids had been a bright spotlight, absolutely radiating in the dim hallways. Young and naïve. It was so, _so good._

 

Even after they’d chased out Kamoshida, after the news and the re-enrollment; after everything flipped on it’s head and got put back inside out, there’d still been the fear. Like the kids had expected someone else to come fill the King’s place, like they couldn’t risk talking about it too loudly or breathing his name or it would start all over again. Nobody had quite found their footing, even as an awkward sense of normalcy fell on their shoulders. Ryuji had graduated- holy _shit_ , he’d _graduated_ \- on a stage full of cautious optimism.

 

He remembered Makoto’s words, valedictorian sitting proudly against her lapeled jacket like it fit exactly right. “We graduate as a class, not just of friends or kids, but as heroes. Heroes who’ve been through hell and back, heroes who know that villains don’t always wear bright masks and make bold statements. Sometimes they’re people we know, sometimes their masks are harder to see, sometimes the hurts aren’t broadcasted. Heroes who know what it’s like to be confused and scared and lost and refused to let that slow them down. We graduate as a class of kids who are _determined to change the world_.”

 

The silent sea of flame bright passion spoke to Ryuji more than any cheer or chant. Ann’s nod, Shiho’s full-fledged grin, all of it. They’d graduated as a group of survivors, people who’d taken the world and demanded more of it than it had shown them. They’d tried to shake the U.A. up from the inside, called for better of the heroes as much as the villains, but it was something else to see it.

 

Hope. These kids shone bright prism fractals of unfiltered hope. No fear, no shifted gazes or careful whispers. Free to be just, kids. Kids who carried their own weights of the world heavier than words could ever contain, but the fact that U.A. was somewhere they felt they could let it go for a moment?

 

The fact he couldn’t find that familiar hollowed out wide-eyed blankness like he’d seen with Shiho’s mirrored gaze. It meant the world and more.

 

Ann grabbed his arm gently. “I know.” She smiled, watery and full. “We helped make that, Ryu. You, and me, and Akira, and everyone.”

 

Ryuji swallowed roughly again, stunned into awed silence. It seemed too much to dare think of, before. Like they'd tested their luck to the brink and then some already just by coming out of it all fighting, just by being together. He'd never thought their ripples would make waves so overwhelming years down the line, too. Akira had, he realized. Akira had probably known all along what he'd been doing recommending this job to Ryuji. He'd always said Ryuji needed to let himself take a little credit here and there. He glanced over at Ann and had to pause again at the way her smile was so relaxed, like he'd been expecting to see the tension lines, the crossed arms, the long gloves and tightly pulled in shoulders from before. 

 

Ann's eyes danced, light and airy.

 

“Let’s go see your new digs, huh?”

 

 

Ryuji had more stories to tell in his short years than most people, some roughed up nobody reaching for fame like it was the tails of a crashing star overhead. The way everyone had given him practiced grimaces and expected him to be the one crashing and flickering out, maybe making a crater the exact size and shape of him in the process. And yet, somehow, he’d planted his feet and lifted the skies, changed his own destiny.

 

Some people called that stubborn. Ryuji knew stubbornness and dumbassery meant the same thing, and he'd never been smart anyways. Funny how that'd somehow worked out for him. Going from a delinquent kid with an ‘almost-expulsion’, to one of the called legendary Phantom Kids who’d started a domino effect that restructured everything about the hero process around the world, well. It was a lot. It also came with a couple of sweet bonuses.

 

For one thing, being able to basically chose whatever Hero Agency he wanted, for another, deciding to make his own a few years later. The ‘Phantom Thieves’ wasn’t so much your typical agency either. He’d made it sort of ingrained into the foundations that they would take on only the heroes who really wanted to make a difference, quirks of any kind. They did anything from helping family house calls to large scale televised events, to fundraisers and burglaries. He’d been worried it was goofy at the start, making a hero agency just to assuage his fears about kids not knowing they had choices. Just so that any little kid who felt like nobody saw them would know they had somewhere to go, somewhere that would listen. Luckily, Ryuji had some amazing professional hero friends that wholeheartedly supported and helped run the place.

 

Ryuji had spent a few years as Japan’s Number Two Hero- they’d all always known Makoto would be a great Number One, Ms. Valedictorian slash vigilante slash justice student. Akira had pushed him to work for the title, saying stuff about Japan needing a hero who’s overcome all the odds and blah blah blah. Ryuji’d be lying if he said it didn’t make an almost overpowering warmth cascade in his chest when he thought about it too much though- _the kid everyone thought would be a villain, the kid who’d almost given up on himself, Number Two Hero._

 

It truly had been amazing, just to see the kids with big smiles, just to know he could do something about the things he grew up with, follow up on villain’s families, never turn down a call for help no matter how small. Course, he’d always known he wouldn’t be able to stay in the field for long, bad leg and all. He’d mastered the trick of getting his quirk to work around the circuit gap, of controlling the outbursts- being happy did weird and marvelous things, he found out- but the bones would never be the same. The stiffness would never quite leave, the pain would only get worse the longer he overworked it, but he got a good couple of years under his belt at least.

 

Ann had been the one who’d suggested going back to U.A. actually. She’d found her own path after graduating, counselling and psychology, eventually Vice Principle, and man, they were all so proud. Gleaming bright gold and silver head to toe. He remembered asking her why once, after a couple of drinks. Why she’d gone back despite everything.

 

_Her brows had furrowed and her mouth pursed in thought, pausing for a long, long moment. “I always wondered whether I’d have figured it out without all of you. The whole, choosing your own fate thing. Whether I’d have just followed what my parents and everyone else expected of me and been miserable.” She took a long drink as Ryuji mulled over her words. “I want to do that, you know? I want to be the one who has her door open, the one to help kids figure it out. I really love what you’re doing Ryu, this whole agency? It’s built off wanting better for other kids, right?”_

 

_Ryuji flushed a little. “Well- I mean.” He rubbed his neck. “Yeah, I just wanted kids to be able to really believe in heroes, I guess. Like I used to.”_

 

_Ann leaned on him and hummed, her cheeks were a little pink, a thrum of calm lavenders and thoughtful indigo’s swirling like a night sky around her. “I think… Well, I’ve known for a long time really. You and Shiho have always inspired me, Akira too. You’ve all kept me believing in heroes. You all just, refused to let anyone down. You refuse to let the same things happen to anyone else, no matter what.” She sighed, something worn and wistful creeping in against the starry backdrop, a lone satellite with nowhere to land._

 

_“Ann,” Ryuji interrupted with a nudge. “You can’t blame yourself for that, we’ve been over it, dude.”_

 

 _She huffed a quiet laugh, taking another drink. Her wedding ring flashed in the dim light. “No, I know. Believe me, Shiho and I have talked about it plenty. I just. I learned from it, I did, and I don’t want any other kid to have to deal with what Shiho or I went through._ Especially _not what she did. Not alone, you know?”_

 

_Ryuji hummed in agreement, exhaling loudly as the realization hit him. “That sounds…. Really good, Ann. Damn.”_

 

_She leaned her head on his shoulder, “It’s not bad, huh? Helping one kid at a time? You know…. I think you’d be great at it too.”_

 

Sakamoto Ryuji, Retired Pro-Hero, current U.A. guidance counselor. Who would have thought.

 

He pushed open the door, his name in big blocky letters against the glass. He thought it’d be weird seeing his name spelled out all professionally, like he had any idea what he was doing ever, like he was playing pretend at adult. It did a little bit, but as he shuffled into the room, Ann hitting the light switch behind him, something larger swept over him. Something reminiscent, like light hair and a swinging fluorescent light and shoes that couldn’t touch the floor, and the first time someone had told him he was more than his last name.

 

“It’s pretty nice, huh? Your very own office. The computer’s a little old, budget cuts and all, but I figure we can snag one of the plushier chairs from the office, and I have a stool here for your leg. It’s from the doctor’s office, Akira said it’ll keep anything from getting too stiff if you’re working long hours and-“

 

“It’s perfect,” Ryuji breathed, sitting heavily on the rolling chair.

 

Ann grinned at him and took a step back out of the doorway. “I knew you’d like it. I’ll go grab the paperwork from the office here, leave you to settle in.” She poked her head back in through the door after a moment. “I’m proud of you, Ryu.”

 

“Proud of you too, Takamaki.” He grinned back.

 

 

 

One thing nobody ever mentioned about the hero life was the mundane stuff. The physio appointments after big battles, the way fan mail piled up really fast when you didn’t check once a day, paying rent. Going on dates had been harder, with the constant cameras and giggling teens around the corner. Picking up groceries was weird when the cashiers got a little star struck and random ladies kept trying to pay for portions of your bill for you.

 

It was nice, granted, but odd. Ryuji was never really a fan of that kind of attention anyways. People told him he’d get used to it, Makoto seemed to handle it as easy as breathing, but Ryuji always felt the fame hanging off of him like chainmail. Heavy, always present, constricting in strange ways. After all the years of praise and apologies, he’d never forgotten what it was like to be entirely invisible, or rather, the awful feeling of seeing the radiating hatred in a room of peers.

 

He knew how fragile it all was. Didn’t help probably that most of the people’s bright grins and wide eyes were overshadowed by a persistent glow of neon- something Ryuji was also unfamiliar with. It was nice to have people smile at him, congratulate him on the street, ask for autographs and all, he took it like a marker of change. Skull stood for the people, the ones who couldn’t ask for help. The ones who maybe only had that one good thing, the ones who could use a few more. If he was popular it meant everything he believed in was popular too.

 

Sometimes though, he envied Futaba and Yusuke. They’d both somehow found a way to shirk the ‘Phantom Thieves’ moniker, becoming experts in their own fields in a way that meant even more than anything from their high school days. Futaba had invented a new way to track villains, using their phone line trick to pinpoint criminals on the run. Ryuji didn’t get all the techno terms of the whole program, but he knew she’d been awarded several fancy shiny medals already, asked to speak for dozens of graduating classes and conferences, had a nice ‘Dr.’ in front of her name these days.

 

Yusuke had worked as a pro-hero for a few years as well, before deciding there was a need for support programs for youth to find creative outlets for anger issues, or to find general support networks of friends and mentors. He often worked with Ryuji’s own foundation, and they coordinated on who needed help and how to help most days. Yusuke had grown into a handsome and popular artist as well, one of those illusive artists that never really spoke on his pieces and donated lots to smaller galleries.

 

The first time he’d talked to the group about his idea, ‘a youth group for wayward souls’ as he’d called it initially- luckily, Ann and Haru had helped him workshop that a little- he’d been very insistent on Ryuji’s particular input.

 

_“I want to make sure we’ve considered everything,” he’d said, eyes serious and boring into Ryuji’s soul in the typical Yusuke fashion. “All types of situations. Many teenagers who talk with us are very angry, they need someone to hear them. To listen.”_

 

_Ryuji blinked, years ago maybe such a directed sort of subtle call out would have made him uncomfortable, now he only paused to think. Yusuke radiated a calm light blue of earnest concern, genuinely, down to his core, wanting to ensure he’d planned everything carefully. This sort of thing didn’t have a flow chart, though._

 

_“It’s good to have guidelines,” Ryuji said after a moment. “But, I guess it’s kinda like going into a big fight. Each kids got their strengths and their weaknesses, and they’re gunna do their best to hide both from you unless they can see the opening. Sometimes you get angry, but then tire out really fast. Sometimes you’re guarded and notice everything, and it’ll take weeks and weeks to even try. Sometimes it happens all at once.” Akira nudged him a little then, from their tightly packed booth. Ryuji smiled a little bashfully. “It’s not easy, but. I think if you’re goin’ into it knowing they need someone to listen, and you hear them when no one else will, I think that’s all you need.”_

 

_Yusuke smiled. “My hope is that this program could help children who were in my position, so that they know when their situation is not alright earlier. I hope also that we could help those who were in your place as well.”_

 

_Ryuji exhaled slowly. “Damn, guys. You’re all gunna make me look bad.” They all huffed a laugh, Yusuke tilted his head._

 

_“How so?”_

 

_Ryuji shook his head and laughed. “It sounds great, ‘Ke. Really. You’re amazing.”_

 

 _And, yanno, in hindsight, Yusuke had definitely blushed a little too._ Huh, _interesting._

 

 

It was nice in a way that seemed untouchable, intangible, to have a tiny office closed off from all the fame and the glory. No ‘Skull, the Underdog Hero’, no fanfare, no invasive questions about his father or about his high school days, or about his illusive and semi infamous fiancé. Just Sakamoto Ryuji, with four walls, an old noisy computer, and an office door he could lock with a key. That was wildly reassuring in a different kind of way.

 

Being at U.A. was… in a word, off putting. He kept getting little hints of panic maybe, something almost electric, almost visceral. White tiles here, a too wide grin there, but it was also soothing. Like a balm on an old burn he didn’t realize had been blistering. He’d sent a text to Shiho after he’d gotten all the paperwork and the passwords, met all the important office people, handshake here, nod there, something a little frantic, a little trusting.

 

Lightning (Ryu): ‘What if I make it worse?’

 

Thunder (Shiho): ‘What if you make everything better?’

 

Ryuji had needed to lean all the way back in his brand new plushy chair then, spinning in a lazy circle as he stared blankly at the single fluorescent strip of light above him. _What if you make everything better? What if you help one person?_

 

Shiho had always seen right through him.

 

She’d also been amazing the entire time he’d known her, alternating between being the greatest calming support he’d ever known and the kick in the ass he’d never known he’d needed. She was amazing in her own right too, dropping out of U.A. to pursue a degree in medicine instead. Certified EMT and everything, a verifiable hero. Shiho’d wanted to avoid the spotlight too, wanting to help in a direct way still but one person at a time. Said the experience of taking Ryuji to the hospital and sitting with him made her really see how doctors and nurses and everyone involved saved lives without special abilities, how amazing it was to see them caring and fixing with only knowledge and patience. Something about their cold hands being a sign of kind hearts, whatever that meant.

 

Ryuji couldn’t believe how lucky he was to befriend so many literal selfless heroic angels, and how proud he was of all of them.

 

A quiet knock on his door made him glance up from his slack ceiling slanted position, his face slowly pulling into a goofy grin as he took in the image of Akira leaning against the door frame.

 

Akira whistled lowly. “Look at you, name plate and everything. Almost looks like a real serious adult sitting there, too.”

 

Ryuji blushed, “Aww, shuddup.”

 

Akira stepped more fully into the room, showing off the bag of assorted gifts he’d brought with him. “House warming gifts?” He pulled a bouquet of gold and red flowers from the bundle, along with a vase, and a few trinkets from home. “Thought you could use some color in here.” Ryuji smiled softly, taking in each flower individually.

 

“Sap,” Ryuji grumbled affectionately. “Now all the students will know there’s a big mushy weirdo hanging out here after hours.”

 

Akira leaned over to press a kiss to Ryuji’s forehead. “Good, your big mushy weirdo wants to show off how proud he is. Got to keep those trouble makers in check after all.”

 

Akira winked, and Ryuji rolled his eyes. There had already been rumours flying around town for years about the last remaining ‘active’ Phantom Thief. About how he tracked all the bad hearts around town and dug out the awful secrets you thought you were hiding. Something about how he’d made two villains reveal their true selves on camera or something ridiculously dramatic. Akira was becoming a good doer version of the boogeyman, ‘better be honest and good or the Phantom will steal your secrets! Better eat your vegetables or the Phantom will fill your room with greens! Better go to bed on time or the Phantom will wag his finger disapprovingly at you!’ It was cute, mostly.

 

“Got you one more gift,” Akira rummaged through his bag a bit more, pulling out a framed picture. He passed it over to Ryuji almost silently. Glittering with anticipation and a swell of deep affection that nearly dragged Ryuji off the shore- he really was never going to get used to that. Ryuji turned the frame over and immediately his gaze caught on the beautiful inlaid carvings around the edges, the careful golden swirls and arches, the corners shaped like a familiar cat head. Yusuke’s work obviously. The picture itself was a group shot Futaba had taken last year at the fireworks display, collaged together with a picture of Akira’s proposal on the green hill they’d gone running together, and the first ever Phantom Thieves group shot they’d taken shortly after Ryuji’d joined. There was a flower pressed between the glass, curling around the images like a vine, and little hand-written notes of encouragement from everyone in the spaces.

 

The whole thing radiated so much care and thought, Ryuji’s eyes burned. “We wanted you to know how proud we are of you.” Ryuji blinked up at Akira, speechless, as he stroked a thumb gently across Ryuji’s cheek. “A little piece of us to keep with you here, so you don’t ever forget how strong you are.”

 

“I always got you guys with me, ya goofball.” He sniffed. “It’s great, seriously. I love it.”

 

Akira grinned, Ryuji’s favorite soft and pink one that made his heart skip and kissed him properly. “You inspire me, you know. Every day.” He murmured almost against Ryuji’s lips, eyes flashing warm and bright.

 

Ryuji thought of all the adventures they’d had over the years, Akira working as the illusive Phantom, an unofficial but official team up the world had just kind of accepted. They’d both gotten their hero licenses at the same time, experienced U.A. together, pulled each other out of their unique free falls so many times. Akira had always been Ryuji’s finish line, his cold drink on a hot summer day, the cheery door that meant home and safety and somewhere to rest. Akira meant the world to him, more than he’d ever been able to explain, or likely would ever find the words for. He’d encouraged Ryuji’s plans, saw the good in everything he did, smiled like Ryuji was his own happiness incarnate.

 

He felt his own expression melt, sappy around the edges and all the way through.

 

“I love you,” he added, plain and simple.

 

“I love you too,” Ryuji replied instantly, like breathing.

 

 

 

 

The first time the door had tentatively been pushed open, it was for a long off white-haired girl with big eyes and a wobbly lip.

 

“The principal told me to speak with you?” She said in barely a whisper.

 

Ryuji rolled back his chair with a flourish, twisting his bad leg in full view and saw the way her eyes flickered down towards the brace and back up. “Depends on what you’re here for.” He smirked a little, crossing his arms behind his head.

 

She blinked, pulling her books closer to her chest like a shield. “Um. Just, career things, I guess.”

 

Ryuji smiled, made a mental note to move slower and broadcast everything a little clearer. “Sounds like you’re in the right place then.” He tapped the nameplate on his desk. _Sakamoto Ryuji, Career and Guidance Councillor._

 

The girl inhaled like she was preparing for something, Ryuji waited for the typical _‘are you Skull? Like, from the TV? Partners with the Phantom_? That _Sakamoto Ryuji?’_ Maybe a whole lot of _‘I can’t wait to be the number one hero, what’s it like knowing Makoto, can you give me a special cheat code for being the best?’_ Like it was really just that easy, left left right up down b start, skip through the tragic backstory and bam! Perfect hero in the making. Now at least there were a few more hoops to jump through, a few more background checks here and there. Born a hero didn't really have the same effect these days. 

 

“Mrs. Takamaki said I should- I mean. It’s just that…. I don’t think my quirk is very helpful. It’s…. it’s scary. I told her and she’d said you would understand? I’m not sure if anyone actually ever does but I- maybe this is a bad time, I should go-“ She made a move to leave, all red faced and broadcasting so much shame Ryuji winced a little trying to look at her.

 

“Hey,” Ryuji interrupted, palms raised. “Just chill out for a second, relax kid.” The girl froze, then slowly sat back down, tense. “Takamaki told you to come here, right? She’s a pretty smart lady, yanno. Maybe you should believe her.”

 

The girl’s cheeks turned a little pink. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t trying to-“

 

“No, no, it’s a joke, kid. You’re fine.” Ryuji waved a hand. “Listen, I don’t know what your quirk is exactly, but I do know they don’t let just anyone into this school. You in the hero track?”

 

The girl nodded.

 

“Then it means they see potential in you, and they want to help you get there.”

 

“But…. But the kids at my old school, they. Um. They always said I had a villains quirk…” her voice squeaked off. Ryuji hummed. She was radiating self doubt, a dark cloud of hopelessness, coloured by a thousand outside opinions all mixed in and confused. Ryuji wondered how awful he’d have looked back in his first year too, how dark and gloomy. He wondered if this was what Shiho had seen then, too. Or his mother. He should to take her to a nice restaurant next week, buy her the most expensive meal on the menu.

 

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s that there is no such thing as a ‘villain quirk’. Listen, you ever heard of-“ he paused for a moment, some signal in the back of his brain wondering when this had become so easy. “Pointbreak?”

 

The girl frowned slightly, confusion spilling over the mess of colours, before her eyes widened and a flash of realization sparked through.

 

Ryuji smiled, a little self depreciatingly. “Yeah, Sakamoto didn’t used to be such a pleasant name. Old man really set me on a rough path.”

 

“You… I mean, your quirk isn’t a villains quirk, though? You save people, lots of people!” She was frowning just a little, a little worming thread of disbelief in a cloud of muddled thoughts. He wondered again how anyone had gotten through to him back then, either. He breathed in slowly, rolled his chair back a half an inch and forwards again. A flash of silver hair and a fluorescent bulb, bruised knuckles and a kid with dark hair and guarded eyes, sparked across his mind. Ryuji paused, looked up at the ceiling.

 

“What’s your name, kid?”

 

The girls voice had gone quiet, careful. “Eri.”

 

“Well, you know Eri, I think we’re pretty similar.” Ryuji turned and tapped a few buttons on his computer, finding the e-mail Ann had sent earlier and pulling up her entrance file after a moment. “When I was a first year here, I wasn’t too good at controlling my quirk. I got injured pretty bad and I was really angry about it, didn’t mesh too well because mine’s all emotion based. Blew up a school bathroom once, actually.”

 

Eri’s eyes widened again. Ryuji forgot that hero’s backstories weren’t shared very accurately a lot of the time, and he usually watered down all the pre-hero business. “Mhmm, lot of kids thought I was tryna follow my old man’s footprints, got kicked out of the hero program and everything.”

 

“But- but that was King, right? That wasn’t your fault!” Eri broke in. Ryuji glanced up to see her frowning, and clutching her bag tightly, radiating anger on his behalf, almost something protective. He gave her a lopsided smile.

 

“Yeah, took a while for people to catch on to that part. The bathroom was definitely my fault though. But you know what got me to fight through it?” Eri was leaning closer now, enraptured in shades of glitter and fire.

 

“I wanted to help people. That’s it. Real simple and cheesy, right? I wanted to be brave, and to help people who got in shitty situations. And you know, Eri, judging from your entrance exam scores, I’d say you’re on the same path, too.” He turned the computer monitor towards her, the video clip of her ‘rewinding’ a fellow student so that his injuries faded into nothing before taking on a robot alone playing on a loop.

 

“You know what I see there?” He asked her. “Someone who wants more than anything to help people. Maybe you weren’t born a hero, Eri, but you were born brave. You were born selfless and kind, and to me? And to that kid you helped? That makes you as much a hero as anyone.”

 

Eri’s eyes were watery a little now, the bright gold cascading through the clouds around her like sunbeams on a stormy day. She bit her lip before meeting Ryuji’s glance. “Bravery isn’t a quirk, Mr. Sakamoto. Anyone can have that.”

 

Ryuji grinned. He thought about Yusuke’s quiet resolve, Mishima’s loyalty, Futaba’s unending confidence, about long hours gathered in Boss’ attic, about standing up with bruised lips and weak limbs in front of a sea of cameras, about every voice that joined in, all the hands that pushed forwards to help.

 

“Isn’t that kind of amazing?” He met Eri’s round eyes, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. _This is it, Sakamoto,_ he thought. _You’ve found it_. The hallway light streamed into the tiny office like a ribbon, the dimmer bulb above them making the space fuzzier, captured perfectly in a haze of something fragile. Ephemeral. Like that moment where you leapt off the ground and the air held you still before your next step. Ryuji’s heart beat in tempo like the echoes of runners on pavement.

 

“You know what’s even more amazing? Nobody in this whole world is going to be able to help exactly the same way you can. Nobody is going to be brave in exactly the same way you are.” Eri blinked, surprised and sparkling with that touch of awe Ryuji remembered so well. He spoke slowly, smile never wavering, genuine and honest and hoping Eri would plant each word carefully and never let it falter.

 

_There’s no way to make yourself feel so terrible that it makes anything better._

 

_I believe you._

 

_There’s nothing wrong with being scared._

 

_We believe you._

 

_Because you helped me._

 

“You know what I think?”

 

_I’d rather be born to help._

 

“I think that’s the best quirk you could possibly have.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really excited to post this and I want to thank you for reading this so far! If you have any questions or want to yell my way I'm on twitter @jimkirkisajerk or @clankclunk on either twitter or tumblr! I'll try to update every Friday!


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